


She's Just Gone

by DomesticatedTendencies



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author loves cliffhangers, BAMF Beth Greene, Beth Greene Lives, Canon-Typical Violence, Charming Negan, Complete, Condoms, Daryl Dixon and Beth Greene Reunion, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, First Time, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Freeform, Gun Violence, Love, Major Character Injury, Moonshine, Multi, Negan (Walking Dead) Swears, Negan - Freeform, Negan Being Negan, Oceanside (The Walking Dead), Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Beth Greene, POV Daryl Dixon, POV Maggie Rhee, POV Negan (Walking Dead), Parents Daryl Dixon & Beth Greene, Possessive Daryl Dixon, Possessive Negan (Walking Dead), Possible Character Death, Pregnancy, Pregnant Beth Greene, Protective Daryl Dixon, Psychological Torture, Relationship(s), Reunited and It Feels So Good, Scenes of a sexual nature - Freeform, Self-Harm, Sisters, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), The Sanctuary, and HEA’s, bethyl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-11-30 18:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 44,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomesticatedTendencies/pseuds/DomesticatedTendencies
Summary: She’s just gone. That’s what he’d told Rick when he’d asked if she was dead. That’s what he told anyone when they’d ask him about Beth. She wasn’t dead - Daryl would know if she was, feel it somewhere deep in his bones. Snatched from the road in the night, yanked from his goddamn hands. He’d let that happen. He’d lost her, and now she was just gone.Or was she?Beth knows two things for sure: she hates her so-called husband with a fiery passion and the only reason she’s with him is the baby growing in her womb. She hates the choice she was forced to make, but she knows it was the right one. She has to survive. It’s the only way she’ll ever be able to get back. And she has to get back.She spends hers nights dreaming of the man she loves and her days loathing the one she’s with until the day she sees a familiar face in the last place she ever expected. Filled with a renewed hope, Beth will do whatever it takes to save the ones she loves.Or, where I attempt to fix the mess that TWD made of my squishy bleeding heart when they killed off Beth before giving her and Daryl their proper due!





	1. To Sleep Is to Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This story is definitely not canon compliant. I'm admittedly being handwavy with timeline and story. What can I say, I'm too lazy to follow the rules. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> I will add tags as they come.
> 
> Also, while there is implied dubious consent I will say right now (at 18 chapters in) I have not/ will not write that scene. I may vaguely allude to it being that I'm trying to keep Negan original to character, but I will not go farther than that.

Daryl didn't sleep. Not unusual for him. If he slept, he dreamt. If he dreamt, it was of that night. Sometimes it was easier to stay awake than it was for him to remember. 

Some parts weren't so bad, like the pink flush of her skin beneath his callused hands and the sweet innocent taste of her on his lips. He didn’t mind those parts so much, even if the desperate ache of longing that he always felt was worse when he woke up. He found he could live with the hole on his chest as long as the echo of her tinkling laugh still rang in his ears; her soft sigh when she murmured his name. It was the rest that he didn't care to remember. Trying to run down the car, screaming her name until he couldn’t anymore. The fading of tail lights and the realization that she was gone. Those were the things his nightmares were made of.

He couldn't track her. The scent of her still hot on his skin, he had tried for days, only to come up empty handed. Someone had taken his girl - and she was his girl - and somehow they had disappeared without a trace. She was just gone, and alone in his room in the house in Alexandria, the knowing she was gone without knowing the where or why was silently killing him.

It was his fault. They should never have split up. Instead of distracting the walkers while she escaped out the back, he should have fought their way out while holding her hand. He could have carried her piggy back like he had done before. They could have stood their ground in the funeral home. Maybe then she would be here now, calming his worries and soothing his fears. She could call him back to bed - to their bed - and sing him a lullaby the way he had watched her do for Judith.

He closed his eyes. He could picture her pretty face; hear her sweet croon. She was beautiful when she sang. Her voice, a beacon of light in a world of darkness. She was his light. He should have told her so. 

The empty void in his chest grew bigger.

He knew he should talk to someone about it. He could tell Maggie. Maggie of all people would understand his pain. She carried it well, but he knew she was still burdened by the loss of her family; losing first her father and then her sister in rapid succession. She might even welcome someone to commiserate with. But things were finally good. They were safe in Alexandria. They had a home here, and a fresh beginning. How could he rob of Maggie of the peace that brought by bringing up the pain of the past? How could he tell her after all these months of keeping it to himself, that he had gone and fallen in love with her baby sister right before letting her be taken away?

Love in the apocalypse was a novel concept. Sure, Maggie and Glen had been lucky enough to find it. Hell, they even celebrated it. But could he really expect them to be as accepting of his love for Beth?

If the rules of convention still applied, he would have called her jailbait. She was eighteen, legal should the judicial system still have existed, but he had known her long enough to be able to say he had known her as a child. Not a child exactly, but she had been damn innocent. And he, well, he wasn't. Hell, he was twice her age and far from fucking innocent, but when she had looked at him with those bright blue eyes and brushed her lips across his, the last thing he had been thinking about was her age or purity. When she had whispered in his ear that she wanted him to love her, there had been no hesitation. Loving her had been easy, it had been losing her that had seen him in hell.

Standing at the window, he lit a cigarette. He knew he should take it out on the porch. Carol didn't like him smoking in the house. It was bad for the kids and the smell would get in to the furniture, she said. He had never had to worry about things like that before. He had never had a pretty house or nice things to fill it with. Beth would have liked it here, though. Everything was bright and shiny, just like her. He opened the window wider to let out the smoke.

They were so far from Atlanta - from the last place he had looked for her. But sometimes it felt like she was there. He could feel her, especially when no one else was around. On a breeze he might catch the coyness of her laugh. In the shower he could feel the weight of her cheek against his shoulder blade, her arms snaking around him from behind. It was like she was there, but she wasn't. She couldn't be. He wanted her to be. His desire turned her ghost in to a living thing. It wasn't healthy.

Pressing the butt of his cigarette in to the back of his wrist, he hissed, succumbing to the pain. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him. Accepting it. Relishing it.

It wasn't healthy.


	2. The Dead Girl In The Mirror

The girl was dead. Her eyes in their sockets were dull and listless. There was no life there; no spark. They looked at her unseeing, unknowing, and without recognition. Who was she? Where had she come from? She didn't know. She didn't know this dead girl.

She wore a dress. Simple, black; like she were in mourning. And she was. She mourned herself. She mourned the others. The bodice was too tight and the buttons puckered. Who the hell had picked this funeral gown for her? There was more than a hint of cleavage and an obscene amount of creamy breast spilled over the low neckline. It was grotesque. Her father would be so ashamed.

Her father was dead. Her mother too. They were all dead. Dead like her. Dead like the girl in the mirror.

“You. Look. Ravaging.” 

The drawled statement was punctuated with a dangerous smirk. A flash of teeth and a charming smile took up over her reflections shoulder. The dead girl forced herself not to recoil, her nails biting tiny crescents in to her palms. He held her slight shoulders between meaty hands, pinning her there in front of the mirror; a portrait of disfunction looking back at her.

“You are absolutely fucking glowing,” His reflection told her. She could feel his hot breath against her bare neck; the rough stubble on his jaw and the nip of his teeth. He smelled of leather, soap and spearmint. Her stomach rolled.

“How do you feel?” He asked, his eyes seeking hers out in the mirror. His hands started to sliding down her arms, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in his wake. He was being gentle now but she knew that that could change at any minute. 

“I feel good,” He answered when she failed to, still smiling, still charming. He was capable of holding a conversation all on his own, but that didn't mean he always liked to. He was expecting a response from her.

“I feel good,” She echoed him in a voice she hardly recognized, then added, “A little tired.”

“Of course,” His reflection agreed with a sympathetic pout.

His rough hands roaming over her body, she didn't move. She didn't even flinch anymore. She was numb. She was dead. 

He touched the swell of her breasts, his thumb ghosting over where her tender nipples were constrained. He lingered there for a moment. Plucking; mauling at her tingling breast. He felt the weight of them in his hands, watching for the rise of a pebbled nipple beneath cheap material. With the flick of a finger he undid the top button, granting her an inch of freedom. When she whimpered he gave a hungry growl.

“You really are something else, wife,” He twanged in her ear. His voice low, she knew what he wanted. 

“Let me look at you,” It was a demand. No, an order. One she wasn't free to question. 

He was already undoing the buttons of her dress, her swollen breasts springing free. He worked his way lower still, his eyes following his slow progress in the mirror as he exposed milky skin.

“Well look-y at that,” He drawled in her ear, letting out a low whistle. 

Reaching around her, he palmed the crest of her stomach like a basketball, appreciating the way it fit beneath his hand. The dead girl watched, her expression neutral to his incessant pawing. His eyes were full of a savage lust as he appraised her swelling belly, a smug look of pride on his face.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his eyes like fire on their reflection.

“My son,” He boasted proudly.

She could hardly suppress her shudder.

With one commanding hand on her hip, the other slid down over the swell of her heavy stomach. Her body clenched as his hand dipped in to her panties. With a knee between her thighs, he nudged her open, his ungentle fingers probing her nether. 

He had done this before, and she, of course, had let him. All she had to do was close her eyes and retreat in to herself. She could disappear inside her head for hours if she had to, completely disconnected. When she felt his fingers slip inside her, she willed herself to do so now. She couldn't.

“Please don't,” She rasped.

The hand between her legs stopped. She opened her eyes, meeting his dark expression in the mirror.

“Don't what?” He drawled dangerously. “You are my wife. Need I remind you that you belong to me?”

“No,” Her eyes were wide as she shook her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulder.

His claim on her body was rough but not entirely unkind as he pulled her back against him, so that they were flush and she could feel the hardness between his legs pressing in to the mid of her back. 

“Have I not taken care of you?” His teeth were barred at her neck, his eyes trained on the mirror, gauging her gratitude. “Ive kept you safe. Did I not bring you in and treat you like a fucking queen? Have I not provided for you as a husband should?”

“Yes, but…”

“The fruit of our union grows in your belly. It is my right as a husband to touch you whenever the fuck I want.”

“I know,” She agreed diplomatically. “I know that. It's just that I'm tired. The baby had me up all night up, kicking.”

His expression in the mirror changed with that, softening. His mouth twitched in a loopy half smile at the mere mention of the child quickening in her womb. Pride was his undoing. In his convoluted brain, the health and activity of the babe spoke directly of his own virility.

“Did he now?” He rumbled, his attention returning again on her stomach. “My son, a little hell raiser, already keeping his momma up at night.”

She swallowed hard before forcing a sick smile, “Like his father.”

His eyes sparked at this. 

“That's right. Just like his daddy,” His mouth lingered over the tenderest part of her throat, both of his hands on her stomach again, touching the baby through her. “Do you hear that, son? You're just like your daddy.”

The dead girls gentle brow wrinkled as he continued to run his hands over her ever changing form. She hated it. Hated him. If she wasn't already dead inside, she would pray for the sweet release of death.

Soon they were interrupted by a heavy knock on the door.

“What?” Her husband snapped, annoyed by the disruption.

The door swung open. With a squeak, the girl turned away from the mirror, hiding herself from the intrusion.

“Uh….sorry,” It was just Fat Joey, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Don't just stand there you fat fucking bastard, what do you want?” Negan’s voice rose in a loud arcing whoop.

“The… thing…” His eyes in their doughy sockets flicked to the dead girl who was busying herself with the clumsy buttons of her dress. “You know, the thing.”

“What thing?” Negan demanded. “I swear to christ, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about.”

His eyes again darted to the girl. He at least tried to be vague for her sake.

“The thing, on the road. The group.”

Negan’s eyes spark, not wholly unlike the way they did when discussing the vitality of the baby. He looked joyful.

“Oh, that thing,” He twanged with a devilish smile. “Is it time for that thing?”

Fat Joey gave a nod.

Negan chuckled. With a sharp intake of breath, he was grinning almost gleefully as he laughed.

“Oh, my darling wife, I'm afraid I've got to go make the rounds,” He sighed. “But I want you to be sure to rest while I'm gone. You’ll need your strength.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand, forcing her head back so that she had to look up at him. “Don't wait up. It’s gonna be a late one for daddy tonight.”

He first kissed her lips and then her forehead, before grabbing the bat, Lucille, from where she leaned ominously against the wall. He was whistling as he walked out the door, happy. 

Too fucking happy.

Her heart still pounding in her ears, Beth sank to her knees on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself. She folded over, hugging the sleeping babe in her womb. Her hair fell like a veil around her, sheltering her as a sob tore at her throat.

“He's not your daddy,” She choked. “That monster is not your father. Your daddy is a good man, and just as soon as I can find a way, little one, I'm going to get us out of here. We’re going to find your daddy. We’re going to find Daryl.”

I hope…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently evacuated from my home due to a Northern California wildfire. Sleep deprived, I wrote this. Let me know what you think!


	3. My Name is Beth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beth meets Negan.

If nothing else, Beth knew two things for certain: one, she was pregnant with Daryl Dixon’s baby, and two, that secret knowledge was the only thing keeping her going.

She hadn't known yet when she was taken from the side of the road. Maybe if she had, things would have been different. Her instincts would have been more acute had she known the tiny miracle she carried. She would have been more aware when her captor crept up on her.

No, she hadn't known then. Bound and gagged in the trunk of a car, she had been completely unaware. Not when they drove for what seemed like days, hitting every pot hole and bump along the way. Not when they arrived at some industrial looking camp and they threw her in a concrete cell with no more ceremony than they had used when putting her in the trunk. No, she hadn't known, but she figured it out soon enough; because whether it was a zombie apocalypse, losing her mother, watching her father be executed, or being kidnapped by a pair of assholes, Beth had never once been late.

Her days were a little fuzzy, but she knew. If she had to guess it had been a month since the moonshine shack. Since playing ‘Never Have I Ever’ until her body had been light and her head cloudy. She remembered it clearly though. Locked in the dark cell, she clung to the details like a castaway to a life preserver. Daryl's rough working hands turning to velvet as he touched her tender thighs, the coarseness of his scruff when he kissed her neck. The seriousness in his expression.

“You sure ‘bout this? It ain't just the ‘shine talkin’?”

Yes, she had been sure. She had never been surer of anything in her life. That was until she realized she was pregnant.

It had occurred to her a day or two before she met Negan. Officially met Negan, anyway. Several of the goons she already encountered had claimed the identity, but she knew now with crystal clarity that there was only one true Negan. 

That morning (or afternoon, or middle of the night, it had been hard to know for sure) the door to her cell had opened with the same heavy creak, Beth automatically backing in to the relative safety of the corner. Having been stripped of her knife she was unarmed and vulnerable. In situations like this she had depended on the protection of the group. She leaned on Maggie, and Rick, and Carol, and Michonne. She leaned on Daryl. She damned herself for being so weak as she tried to make herself small.

She had watched behind a fall of hair as a body filled the doorway. He had been one of the men in the car - one of the ones to take her. His partner had called him Denny and he was watching her, watching him, with a gleam in his eye that left Beth feeling both naked and nauseous.

“I was thinking if you wanted to play nice I might take you out today,” He said, to which Beth said nothing.

He clucked in disapproval. “What's wrong little mouse, cat got your tongue?”

With her knees drawn to her chest she lifted her chin, defiantly, and said nothing, her eyes icy blue.

Denny crouched before her, taking up all the space. She could smell the musk of man on him; booze and cigarettes and the sour tang of old sweat. She swallowed back the urge to vomit.

“You know, you should try to make nice,” He had warned as he traced up her arm with a lazy finger. “There might be something in it for you.”

She still said nothing. Her mouth puckered, her naturally wide eyes narrowed, she glared at him with unmasked contempt.

Her captor gave something like a snort. With a deep breath, it had looked like he might retreat, leaving her alone again in her cold cell. Instead he fell on her, his foul mouth crushing against hers. 

“Get off of me!” Beth screamed her first words in days. 

The neck of his shirt balled in her fists, she wiggled and fought against him. Her legs kicked free, she brought her knee up just the way Maggie had taught her, hitting him in the sweet spot. Denny let out a pained groan and backhanded her hard across the cheek. She didn't think she had ever been slapped before, not like that, and the taste of metal filled her mouth.

“What in the shit is going on here?” The booming voice echoed in the small room. 

Suddenly Denny pulled away - more like he was pulled away. Yanked, actually, and he crashed in to the wall. Free of his weight, Beth clamored back in to her corner, blinking up at this new man - her rescuer (?) - as he stood over her, a baseball bat carelessly over his shoulder.

“Fuck. I am so sorry about that,” He spoke so that his words rose and fell like a wave, emphasis on ‘fuck’ and ‘so’.

“Are you okay?”

She must have blinked, because he nodded once before turning his attention back to Denny who was pulling himself upright against the wall.

“N-negan, I-I'm s-sorry. I-it's not -,” He stammered.

“It's not what?” This new Negan demanded. “It's not you forcing yourself on this poor girl? Cause it sure as shit looked like you forcing yourself on her.”

“I-it was a k-kiss!” Denny defended, his hands up as though to ward off attack though the second man appeared entirely relaxed.

“A kiss?” He scoffed, he was looking at Beth and not at Denny, the question directed at her, “Did she tell you, you could kiss her?”  
.  
Beth gave the tiniest shake of her head.

The bat he had been holding so naturally over his shoulder, whistled as it cut through the air. 

“Strike one!” Negan boomed as Denny doubled over, taking the blow to his solar plexus. Negan pulled the bat back, adjusted his grip, and brought the butt of the bat down between his victims shoulder blades. 

“Strike two,” He snarled as Denny fell to a groaning heap on the floor. “Don't you ever fucking lie to me.” 

Emphasis on ‘ever’.

Beth was panting, her eyes wide as she stared at the crumpled man. She pulled her feet in more, afraid to touch him in any way.

Negan turned on her, the bat still in his hand. “Shit, I'm sorry you had to see that. I just can't stand that shit. Where the hell are my manners? I'm Negan.”

Beth blinked. Negan smiled and offered his hand. When she didn't take it he only shrugged.

“You've got one hell of a fat lip there, sweetheart,” Beth tongued her split lip as he looked down on her. “He hurt you anywhere else?”

Again, she didn't answer. She was looking back and forth between the two men, one standing one not. She was pretty sure Denny was alive but was well aware what would soon happen if he wasn't. Negan crouched beside her, uncaring about his victim.

“I cannot help you, darlin’, if you do not talk to me,” He drawled slowly.

Her chin dimpled as she blinked at this man with his barbwire covered baseball bat, her heart aching for someone else who had once called her, darlin’.

“You have people out there?” Negan asked, his voice almost gentle, and then, “Did you lose people?”

The tears were a complete surprise, even to her. She diverted her attention to the wall at her shoulder, turning in to the comfort of concrete.

“How old are you?” He questioned. “Fifteen, sixteen?”

When she turned back on him with fire in her eyes, he gave a slow grin, a flash of near perfect teeth set in a dark face. So she was young, but she wasn't a kid.

Negan chuckled, low in his throat as he rocked back on his heels, “Shit, you are something else, you know that? Come on, let's get you out of here. See if we can't find you something decent to eat.”

Rising up, he again offered his hand. Beth looked at it incredulously. 

“I’m not going to bite you. Not without permission,” He punctuated the statement with a wink, Beth grimaced and stood on her own.

Free from her cell, Negan took her on a tour of his compound; he called it The Sanctuary. His people, they were The Saviors. Looking like they were on some easy stroll, he explained the hierarchy of his system, placing himself at the top. Beneath him, his lieutenants, and beneath his lieutenants, soldiers. Then there were those dependent on The Saviors and their protection. They were the working force, and as such earned points. Points were as good as cash and could be traded for food and wares. Everyone had a job. Everyone worked. Nothing was for free.

Beth turned away from the destitute people. They knelt before Negan, heads bowed, backs bent. No one smiled. No one looked happy. She got the impression that no one was living. They were barely surviving. The only ones who appeared even remotely satisfied with their existence were the ones he introduced as soldiers, and then they had looked at her with a shadow of malice in their eyes. Something wasn't right.

“We’re a long way from Georgia,” Negan commented lightly. He had talked for the entire tour, so far not requiring her to actually answer. “Virginia to Georgia, used to be able to drive it in a day. Now, shit, that's at least a week. Hell of a lot longer on foot. Not to mention alone.”

They were alone, in a suite of sorts, she assumed his own. There was a large bed and a sitting area. A small table was set out with food and a chair on either side so that they faced one another. Beth’s uneasy stomach growled at the mere smell of proper food, but her clasped hands had yet to leave her lap.

“Of course you could stay here,” he said with a wave of his fork, his food in his cheek. “Work for points,” He suggested.

Not liking that idea, Beth had frowned.

Negan smirked.

“I'm sorry, you'll have to excuse me,” He leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on the table. “But I'm dying to know, back there with Denny, is that the closest you've ever been with a man?”

Her eyes widened. It was such an unexpected change of direction that she was genuinely surprised. Negan mistook this shock for embarrassment.

“Ho-ly shit. It was, wasn't it? We’ve got ourselves a gen-u-ine virgin here,” He sat back, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

Beth felt the color rise in her cheeks. Her virginal state, or lack thereof, was not something she wanted to discuss with this man. Her time with Daryl had been so brief and they had only managed a small handful of times, that the idea of not being a virgin anymore was still new to her. She hadn't even had time to process it, let alone the fact that she was pregnant.

“That was rude of me. I'm sorry,” He was smiling again, almost coyly. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's just that you seem like a perfectly sweet girl and for you to be a virgin too, that's a rare find these days.”

Not wanting him to discuss it further, she picked up her fork. She couldn't focus on the food and it all tasted like sawdust in her mouth anyway. Negan appeared pleased as he resumed his own dinner.

“There's another option, if you want it,” He said after several silent minutes. “You don't have to work for points. A pretty thing like you, you could have a better life than that. I could provide for you - offer you my protection. Give you a station with some prestige. You could have your own room, like this one. Hell of a lot better than some cot in the commons or that dank cell you were in.”

Beth looked up at him again, slowly, waiting for the catch. He smirked, his chocolate brown eyes crinkling slightly.

“You could become one of my wives,” He twanged. “You would be a most welcome addition to our happy little family.”

She blinked. Was this guy proposing marriage? And wait, had he said wives, as in plural? Was he actually suggesting bigamy?

He scoffed. “You look shocked. Are you shocked? A sweet innocent thing like you, it might seem a little strange. I assure you, it's not as strange as you might think. I have the means to take care of all my wives, and why shouldn't I? Everything you see here belongs to me. Everyone here works for me. My wives, they worry for nothing. You could be among them, leading a life of privilege.”

She looked at him, doe eyed and harmless. She thought first of the squalor she had seen in the factory, the broken spirits of the people working for points, and then of the baby; the secret she carried. She wasn't stupid, she knew she couldn't make it back to Georgia on her own, not pregnant but if she married Negan, if she agreed to do it now…

She cleared her throat. “Beth.”

Negan arched a brow, “Beth?”

“My name,” Her shoulders straight, her chin high. Her voice sounded strange, almost rusty from disuse. “My name is Beth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually like Negan. I know, he's the bad guy, but he's the bad guy you love to hate. My sister, who has never watched TWD reads everything I write before I post it and she said of this, "Great, now I'm starting to like him." 
> 
> That's kind of the point...
> 
> As always, I love the feedback!


	4. Easy Street (I Just Want to Take Him Home)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While locked in his cell, Daryl uses memories of Beth and her singing in an attempt to keep his resolve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of the lyrics used in this chapter. "Beth's song" is "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars. If you've never heard it, go check YouTube. It's beautiful!

“You're going to miss me when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.”

God, had she been right. He missed her. He missed her more than anything. In this moment. In this place. He fucking missed her. But at the same time, he was glad she wasn't here. He took comfort in it. He didn't want her anywhere near this fucked up place. He missed her, but could only imagine how much worse things could be if she had been around.

Shit… that baseball bat… Abraham… Glenn… she could have been there. She could have seen it. It could have been her.

It was better that she not be there. Wherever she was, it had to be better than this. Even if she was…

No. She wasn't that. She wasn’t dead. She was strong. Stronger than she looked. Shit, he had taught her himself how to fight. She would fight. She would survive. She had to. He had to believe it.

Daryl could feel his mind slipping. The thin strings of his sanity pulling. The song. That fucking song. He had hated it when Rick played it. Hated it even more now.

_We’re on easy street,_  
_And it feels so sweet…_

Fuck, easy street.

Quick, think of Beth. Think of her singing. What was the song? How did it go?

They were in the woods. No, not the woods, the creek. They had made camp by the creek. How long? A day or two? Beth squatted at waters edge, jeans low on her hips. The curve of her ass, her belt dipping low. He could just see the dimples in her back. She had taken her shirt off, washing it it against the rocks. He was keeping watch; watching her. Watching Beth wash her clothes in the creek. He didn't like her undressing in the open like that, leaving herself vulnerable to an attack.

“That's what I have you for, Mr. Dixon.”

That damned smile.

_‘Cause the world is ‘bout a treat,_  
_When you're on easy street._

How did her song go? What were the words

_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done?_  
_I've fallen in love with a man on the run._

Run. Running. Away. Away with Beth. Away from here. Far, far away.

Falling. He fell back in to the dirt, brittle leaves crunching beneath his weight. It was hot. Midday. The sun bright between the branches of the trees overhead. He locked his fingers behind his head. The stillness of the woods. The quiet. Beth’s head against his chest. He was her own personal pillow.

“Maybe it's not so bad.”

His eyes closed. He grunted, “What?”

“Being the last two people on earth. We have each other. Maybe it's not so bad.”

_It's our moment in the sun,_  
_And it's only just begun._  
_It's time to have a little fun._

No. No! Not that fucking song. Anything but that fucking song. Think of Beth. Think of Beth singing. Beth’s song. How did it go, again?

_Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what do I do?_  
_I've fallen for someone whose nothing like you._

She'd fallen in love. In love with him. Her man. She was his woman. He was her man. They had each other. They had each other and the woods. He could hunt and provide for them. They had everything they needed, as long as Beth kept singing her song.

“I thought my singing annoyed you?”

_Yeah we got a front row seat._  
_Oh, to a life that can't be beat._  
_Right here on easy street._

Abraham. Dead.

Glenn. Dead.

Beth.

Beth. Not dead. Beth by the creek. Beth singing her song.

_Oh, I just want to take him home._  
_Oh, I just want to take him home…_

His scream reverberated against the concrete walls of his cell; tore at his throat.

Easy street…


	5. You're Mine, Aintcha?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Beth takes comfort in a memory of her time alone with Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a small bit of smut in this chapter. It's unnecessary to the story except to speak of Beth and Daryl's time together.

There were perks to being one of Negan’s wives. The accommodations for one thing, the choice food for another. Not having to work for points. The safety that The Sanctuary provided. The downside, of course, was being attached to a known sociopath. 

Negan could be charismatic when he wanted to be, which was to say, when it best suited him. He could be trusted to always have an angle, and he used his talents as a charmer to get his way. When that didn't work there was brute force, if not his own than his enforcers - the lieutenants and soldiers who worshipped him. Negan had them all convinced that he was god. He was an omnipresent entity both inside the walls of The Sanctuary and beyond, and his followers obeyed his every command. Mostly, Beth suspected, because they feared what he would do if they didn't. Negan liked to think of it as respect.

Beth, however, knew the difference. She respected the fact that Negan should be feared.

She had feared him. On their wedding night, if it could be called that, he had given her a gift that she would never forget. The sight, the smell, the sound. It was a gift she wished desperately to give back. As a celebration of their ‘union’ and for his transgressions against her in the cell, Negan had had Denny branded. Beth had watched in utter horror as the red hot iron was pressed against his cheek, scarring Denny forever as a traitor against Negan’s stringent law. She could feel her own skin sear as he had screamed in agony, and though she hated the man, she had actually felt sorry for him.

Negan, for all intents and purposes, had appeared euphoric. He relished in the pain of others - fed from it. He used the public branding as a lesson to anyone who might consider questioning his rule. Denny’s face would forever be a reminder of what happened when you disobeyed.

People rarely disobeyed.

Luckily for Beth, she no longer had to attend the public punishments. An added perk of being Negan’s only pregnant wife.

Three months after their so called wedding, with the news of her pregnancy still buzzing, there had been another branding - Dwight’s. Dwight had escaped The Sanctuary with his then-wife Sherry and her sister, Tina, after stealing the insulin that Tina required. Eventually they had returned, defeated, and Sherry had agreed to leave Dwight and marry Negan to spare her husband. Of course, that wasn't good enough for Negan. He needed to make an example of Dwight - to prove his superior rule. Beth had watched, pale faced and numb, as the iron sizzled over Dwight’s eye. She heard his gut wrenching screams, had watched as Sherry fought to hold herself back. Beth couldn't help but think of Daryl and what she might do if they had been in the same position; her standing helpless while he was tortured. Then she promptly threw up on the cold concrete floor.

After that Negan no longer required her to attend the brandings. She was considered too fragile for such unpleasantness. The doctor warned Negan against the stress - the danger to the child - after all, his young bride was just a delicate little wisp of a thing. 

So Beth was tucked away. She kept to her room when not in parlor with the other wives, and had nothing required of her. Even sex, which at first had been a constant and punishing part of her daily existence, had waned. He had his other wives to take pleasure from and as Beth grew fat with the child he believed to be his own, Negan began to be satisfied merely by looking upon her. He was fascinated by her ever changing form and while her pregnancy didn't completely relieve her of her wifely duties, the instances were growing fewer and farther between; another perk.

For the most part she kept to herself. It wasn't that she didn't like the company of the other wives as much as she wasn't looking to form attachments. They were all just trying to survive, and under Negan’s rule that was easier done without the burden of friendships. It was nothing for a wife to tattle on another in hopes of gaining favor with their shared husband. And for what: first pick of dresses? A new pair of shoes? Beth wasn't interested, so when she did spend time among the other wives, she read books from the small library of romance novels or kept quietly in the corner, staring out the window and making plans.

When she heard there was to be another branding, she took the opportunity to slip to her room unnoticed and alone. No one particularly cared. She closed the door behind her with a soft click. There was no lock so she shoved a chair under the knob. With everyone on the factory floor for Negan’s torture, it would be at least an hour before someone came looking for her.

Her room was simple; a double bed, a love seat, an armoire. The bedding was utilitarian, scratchy wool blankets that unlike the other wives, Beth actually didn't mind. It reminded her of the horse blankets they used on the farm - of the stupid poncho Daryl used to wear.

She lay down on the bed, stretching sore, swollen limbs. Kicking off her shoes, she pressed her calves flat against the itchy material, her arms at her sides, and she closed her eyes.

“Hphm,” It was guttural sound, all smokers phlegm and gravel in the back of his throat. It vibrated in his chest and feeling it beneath her ear rather than hearing it, Beth gave a lazy smile. 

“What about those ones there?” She asked, her fingers reaching for the pinpricked canopy above them, indicating to Orion’s Belt.

“The sisters,” He grunted. “Molly, Dolly, and Darlene.”

Beth shifted her head on his chest, looking at him with an inquisitive brow. Thus far her redneck astrology lesson had been nothing short of entertaining.

“Molly, Dolly, and Darlene?” She questioned with a smirk.

He grunted again, a sort of a laugh, and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. His other arm wrapped around her, his fingers were working the snarls of her hair. 

“What? They was girls I knew,” He said it in that rough speech of his.

“Oh yeah? What kind of girls?” Beth asked.

“The kind with easy names to remember.”

“Did you…?” She wanted to know, the idea of who he was and who he knew before, intriguing her.

“Fuck ‘um?” He snorted. “Naw.”

She cocked her head to the side, watching his face in the campfires glow. If you had asked her before the end of the world happened, Daryl Dixon wasn't at all her type. He was too rough, too dangerous. But alone in the woods, his heart beating beneath her finger tips, he was all she wanted.

“Merle might’a,” He graveled. “Probably did. At least Dolly and Darlene.”

Beth smirked, her chin resting on his peck. “Why not Molly?”

“Too good for him,” He shifted beneath her, tightening his embrace. “She had herself a GED.”

Burying her face in his chest, she giggled and then sighed, settling back against him. He held her close, his rough fingers lazing up and down her arm, sending shivers down her spine.

“You’s cold?” Daryl asked, tucking his chin in so that he looked down at her.

“No,” She answered softly. “Am I hurting you?”

He made that grunt noise in his chest that told her that she wasn't. They fell in to a natural silence after that. Under a blanket of stars on a bed of leaves, with the pops and crackles of the fire, the quiet was a comfort. 

“Daryl?” She started timidly after several minutes of complete stillness. “Would I have been the kind of girl you wanted before?”

Another grunt. She didn't look at his face but she pictured his scowl.

“No,” He answered bluntly.

She let out the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. “Oh.”

“I never made it a habit to want shit I can't have,” He grumbled. “Still don't.”

“I see,” She said slowly, nodding against his chest. Her cheek rubbed against the cotton of his shirt, stiff with dried sweat and dirt. “What about now though?”

“What about it?” He asked.

Tilting her head back, she looked up at him again. “Do you want me?”

“What kind of stupid question is that, girl?” He growled. “Yer mine, ain’t’cha?”

She hid her smile in his hard chest, “Yes.”

He pushed her off of his chest, not roughly but with enough force to let her know what he wanted. She lay back on the dirt, twigs snapping beneath her while Daryl supported her head with his forearm. He was looking down at her now, his blue stare intense in the dark. His brow was creased with worry and his eyes were serious.

“You want me?” He asked.

Reaching up, she pushed the greasy flop of hair out of his face just for it to fall back, and smiled. “Mhm.”

He lavished her mouth with his kisses; deep and penetrating. He tasted of smoke and the grease from the rabbit he had caught for their dinner - not entirely unpleasant as he parted her chapped lips with his tongue. He swept the inside of her mouth greedily but not overly forceful. 

He had set plenty of alarms around their camp. Had secured the perimeter for two square miles. They were safe out here in the open and if any trouble should arise, his crossbow was within arms reach. They were safe. Beth felt safe. So Daryl took his time, feeling as though they had all of it in the world.

“You sore?” He grunted with honest concern when his wandering hand reached the waist of her jeans.

“I’m fine,” She replied with a hard swallow. She was a little bit sore from the night before, from the moonshine shack and her drunken first time, but she wouldn't tell him that. Sore or not, she didn't want him to stop.

One handed, he undid her belt, unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed them down her hips.

“Shouldn’t get completely naked out here like this,” He graveled against her throat.

A course finger dipped between her most sensitive of lips. She gasped. Daryl met her eyes then, a smirk on his rugged face.

“Like that, huh?”

She nodded quickly, a tentative smile on her lips. 

“Shoulda taken more time last night,” He stated lowly. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” She rasped.

His finger pulsed lightly, feeling her out. It was still so new to her, her likes and dislikes unknown to the both of them. When her hips flexed eagerly, wanting more despite the tenderness, they both made note.

Daryl grunted in her ear, “Your wet.”

“I'm sorry,” It was both a question and an apology.

“Don't be. That's good,” He smirked, his breath hot. “Means you want it.”

She squeaked as he nipped lightly at her ear. She reached for him, her hands shaking as she slipped them under the warm leather of his vest, feeling the muscles through his shirt. She clung to him. Her body tensing, and breath coming in shuttering pants. Her need felt desperate. She felt desperate. Daryl pressed his brow to hers, pushing her back, his fingers unrelenting against her quivering quim.

“Relax, girl,” He encouraged. “It ain't no race.”

“Daryl,” She whimpered. She sounded scared.

“I ain't goin’ nowhere.”

Beth was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. Her breath heaving, she opened her eyes. Her panties limp around her ankle, her hand was between her legs mimicking Daryl’s precise touch. She let out a strangled sob when the knock at the door came again.

Heaving herself from the bed, she righted her panties. The chair scraping roughly across the floor as she pushed it aside.

“What?” She demanded, when she found Fat Joey standing there.

He offered a plate covered in cling wrap, something from the kitchen.

“Negan wanted me to make sure you got lunch,” He told her, his cheek conspicuously full.

She gave an irritable huff, snatching the plate away.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” She snapped, then felt bad for it. “Sorry. I was napping. Thank you.”

“Oh, okay,” Fat Joey nodded. “It's just a sandwich and some melon. Do you want something else? I could get it for you.”

“No, thank you,” She answered tersely.

“Okay then.”

She closed the door in his face. It was a full minute before it occurred to her that there was something familiar about the new gun on Fat Joey’s fat hip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter that does nothing to move the story forward. Next up, a little action.
> 
> As always, I love the feedback.


	6. Cantaloupe and Lemons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caught unawares, Beth sees a familiar face in the halls of The Sanctuary.

So pregnancy cravings were real, even in the apocalypse. For Beth, it had started as pickles, something that the kitchen workers made in house. They had a good snap, and just the right amount of vinegar. As time wore on though, her tastes had shifted. She went through a chocolate phase, not as easily satisfied, and now she was stuck on cantaloupe. She didn't remember liking the floraly melon before but now, she couldn't seem to get enough of it.

She didn't know where the cantaloupe came from. She didn't ask. The Sanctuary didn't have a garden of their own but that wasn't to say they didn't have the means. She knew there were other communities of survivors out there and she knew The Saviors extorted supplies from them. She tried not to think about the how’s or the why's.

Returning her lunch plate to the kitchen, she helped herself to a bowl of the sweet, juicy, melon. She could take whatever she wanted. No one dared to question it. They were under direct orders from Negan himself to cater to her every whim. After all, she was carrying his son.

With bowl in hand, as well as her most impractical of high heeled shoes, Beth left the kitchen, a fleshy hunk of fruit between her lips. She ate with her fingers and sticky juice dripped down her forearm. She paused to lick at it.

Somewhere in the distance someone was playing music; something loud and gratingly pop-ish. She took a moment to listen. She had heard the song echoing down the concrete halls on and off for about a week now. Whatever the reason, the song was annoying. There was just no telling why in The Sanctuary sometimes.

With a sigh, she started on her way again, another mouthful of fruit in her cheek. She wasn't particularly paying attention to where she was going or her surroundings - stupidity on her own part. So that when she heard Negan’s voice congenial in conversation, she was taken by surprise.

“Barefoot, pregnant, and straight from the kitchen,” He drawled. “Now that is the trifecta, isn’t it?”

Beth swallowed hard, swiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. There were so many things wrong with being caught off guard like that. For one, she wasn't wearing shoes. Negan liked his wives to always be presentable. For two, she was alone. She might not have particularly liked the constant company, but Negan preferred if she were going to travel around the compound that she do so with a guard if not another wife. So flustered was she at being caught unawares like that, it took her several seconds before she realized Negan was not alone and by that point it looked like she was eating lemon instead of cantaloupe.

It couldn't be, could it? He couldn't possibly be here. It was her eyes playing tricks. It had to be.

“Where are your manners, wife? We have a guest! This handsome S.O.B. here is Carl,” Negan boomed, his voice echoing down the hall. He clapped his companion hard on the shoulder and Beth winced.

Carl Grimes was staring back at her. At least, she thought he was staring at her. It was sort of hard to tell with the bandages and flop of hair over his left eye. He was taller, maybe. More grown up than she remembered from the prison. How long had it been, eight months? Almost nine. But it was definitely Carl. He even had on Rick’s beat up old Sheriffs hat as proof.

She bowed her head, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Carl mumbled something of the same effect.

“I know what you're thinking,” Negan leaned in to Carl like they were conspirators in the same plot. “I'm old enough to be her father. Hell, the two of you could be the same age. You probably lost your first nut to the idea of a girl like her. Who was it, huh? Some chick in your home room?”

Carl said nothing, stoic. He showed no signs of recognition. He was as cool as a cucumber.

On the other hand, Beth’s mind was reeling. What could he possibly be doing here? And if he was here did that mean some of the others were too? Maggie? Rick? Glenn? Had others survived the prison and if so, where were they now?

She felt what could only be a glimmer of hope. She hoped it didn't show. 

“As much as I'd like to know, wife, just why the hell you’re roaming around carrying your damn shoes, it's time I got Carl back to his daddy,” Negan twanged. Lucille was relaxed over his left shoulder while his other arm was still draped heavily over Carl, pinning him into place. 

“As you can see - I assume you can see anyway - damn that eye is freaky. Anyway, as you can see, I'm about to be a father myself, so I’m sympathetic to how worried you dear old dad must be.”

Then he addressed Beth again, the expression on his face hard and commanding. “Shoes, wife. Now.”

Her throat was dry, “Yes, husband.”

He smiled that slow, evil grin. “Good,” He acknowledged before continuing in the direction of which she had just come. She turned, following them with her eyes. Her heart hammering away in her chest as Negan talked companionably to Carl.

“What about Daryl?” The boy suddenly asked, loud enough for her to clearly hear.

Beth's head snapped. Her eyes blinking. Carl dared a small look over his shoulder, an unspoken acknowledgement.

“Don't worry about Daryl, son,” Negan chuckled. “He's living it up on Easy Street.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but put a little nod to Carl's crush on Beth. Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Finding Easy Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's getting closer....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I originally had other plans, good plans, but perhaps a little anti climatic? After all the amazing comments last night, I decided to try a different route. I hope you still enjoy!

She couldn't help herself, she was running. Bare feet slapping on cold concrete, she was running as fast as if walkers were after her and she wasn't six months pregnant. Okay seven, but only she knew that.

Running was bad though. Too obvious. There was no logical reason for her to be running. So she slowed to an awkward trot. Kind of a quick waddle. That was it. If anyone asked she was desperate for the bathroom. That always worked. Mention something awkward and uncomfortable about pregnancy like her constant need to pee and they usually looked the other way and left her alone.

Come to think of it, maybe she should tell Negan about hemorrhoids.

No time to think about Negan. Daryl. Daryl was here. If she hadn't seen Carl herself she wouldn't have believed it. Somehow, someway, Daryl was here in The Sanctuary and as bad as that could be for him, she was overjoyed. Elated. It meant there was still hope after all.

She followed the music. The old factory that was now The Sanctuary was a labyrinth of concrete corridors, not horribly unlike the prison she had lived in before. The cheerful music bounced off the walls, louder in some spots and then quieter in others, until finally she pinpointed the source.

She should have known. She hadn't traveled down this hall since her own short interment in a cell. Just thinking about the cold darkness and the fear made her shiver. 

On one side of the hall the doors were spaced farther apart, living quarters she knew, for some of Negan’s minions. On the other side, the doors were closer together - the cells that must have at one point been storage of some sort. They weren't large enough to have been anything else. On the apartment side some of the doors were open, letting through the light from cheerless windows. Across the hall the doors were closed, dark and ominous. The CD player playing it's overly chipper tune on loop sat before one of those barred doors.

Her mouth was suddenly very dry. She knew without truly knowing, who was on the other side.

At last, she had found easy street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was angry. No, not angry. He was fucking pissed. What the hell was going on? It wasn't bad enough that they had him here, locked up in some hole, treating him worse than a damned dog, but now they had Carl too? How the hell had that happened? He didn't know, but he was fixing to keep to his word. If that bastard so much as hurt a hair on that boys head, he’d kill him. Daryl might not have had anything to live for anymore but Carl was a different story. Carl still stood a chance. He was going to make sure of it.

Just as soon as that damned door opened.

Daryl sat against the wall, his head back. His stomach was too empty to do much else. Those nasty dog food sandwiches just weren't cutting it, and that was coming from someone who wasn't opposed to eating roadkill every now and then.

God, was he hungry.

He thought of pickled pigs feet. He didn't know why he thought of them now, besides the fact that he was starving. That and pickled pigs feet made him think of her. The face she'd made; the cute way she scrunched her nose. The sharp tang of vinegar on his lips and the way she'd laughed and tried to push him off when he’d gone to kiss her.

The smile that the thought brought to his face slowly faded, much like his memory was starting to. He was starting to forget things. Things he wanted desperately to remember. Not just about Beth either, but others too. He didn't really care about the earlier memories, shit about his parents and his childhood, but he wasn't exactly ready to forget Merle or Andrea. Dale and Sophia. He didn't want to forget Hershel. He tried to remember. Tried to cling to the memories of the people he'd cared about. He clung hardest to the memories of Beth.

A shadow interrupted the light that crept beneath his cell door. Someone was out there and he sat a little stiffer. He strained to hear over the blaring music.

Fucking, easy street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She needed a key. Of course she needed a key. Why on earth had she thought this would be easy? She ducked inside one of the efficient apartments, desperate to find anything - anything at all - that might resemble a stupid key. She would even settle to find a double barrel shotgun if it meant getting that door open.

Riffling as carefully as her trembling hands would allow, she was losing her glimmer of hope. Her brain was frantic and she found herself checking the same spots over and over again. No, there were no keys on the bookshelf, just some weird old porno magazines. Quit looking there, damn it! Look somewhere else! Anywhere else!

Then she spotted it. A low nightstand beside the bed with a barely noticeable drawer. She fell on it like a wolf on prey. It had to be there, just had to be. The drawer rattled with her shaking nerves. Her already worried brow, wrinkled.

A roll of condoms, ribbed for his pleasure, and a king sized KitKat, pristine in its wrapper. Chocolate in any form was worth its weight in gold these days and whoever occupied this room had been holding out. 

“Going on a run. Need anything?”

She had been timid then, too shy to even look at him.

“No, thank you.”

“You sure? Last chance.”

She had blushed. Focused on Judith in her arms.

“Maybe… That is if you happen across any… Don't go out of your way or nothin’.”

“Spit it out, girl.”

“Some chocolate?”

He had laughed. More like scoffed. Okay, snorted. Then he was gone without so much as a word. For a moment her feelings had actually been hurt. He was so dismissive and flip, and why shouldn't he have been? She was just a kid, after all. A kid after some stupid candy.

She hadn't expected him to actually follow through. That night, when he and Glenn returned from their supply run, he stopped by her cell. No word then either, just a handful of melted Hershey Kisses from his pocket. She had blinked at him from her bunk, owlish and surprised. Then he left, her calling her thanks after him.

Snatching the KitKat, she tucked it into the pocket of her smock without so much as a second thought. Then she gasped. Beneath where the candy had been she found what she was truly after - a key. 

She could cry for joy if her heart hadn't been threatening to explode from her chest. She grabbed the key, held it up between her fingers. It was just an ordinary key. Nothing special. She didn't even know for certain if it was the right one, but she was soon going to find out.

Closing the drawer, she slipped quietly from the room, checking first that the coast was clear. That stupid song starting over again, her hands shaking, the key. She had the key.

“What are you doing down here?”

Beth nearly jumped out of her skin. Quickly hiding her hands behind her back, she pressed the key in to her palm until it hurt. Dwight with his half melted face, was staring at her with narrowed, suspicious, eyes.

She flustered, her cheeks blazing, “Nothing.”

“Something,” He challenged.

She straightened, daring to meet his eyes. “Okay, fine. I got turned around and needed to take a piss.”

Dwight squinted at her behind lank blonde hair. Why did he have to remind her so much of someone else?

He nodded over his shoulder with a quick jerk of the head, “Bathroom’s that way.”

Beth darted a glance towards the closed off cells. Well, to one cell.

“What's the hold up?” Dwight questioned.

She looked at him again, tucking a loose strand of gilded hair behind her elfin ear.

“Whose in the cell, Dwight?” She dared, her voice surprisingly controlled.

He shook his head, his lips turned down in an nonchalant frown. “Doesn't matter, does it?”

“You've been in one of those cells,” She told him. “You know what it's like.”

“So what?” He snapped, annoyed at the reminder. “You shouldn't be down here.”

She met his eyes again, those anguished, burdened, eyes. Those eyes who watched every day as Negan toyed with his wife. 

“I know what it's like too,” She said in barely a whisper.

He looked slightly taken aback. She had come to The Sanctuary while he and Sherry were still working for points. Before their unsuccessful escape.

“You should turn the music down,” She muttered, her window of opportunity firmly closed. "It's annoying."

He scoffed. “Let's go, before someone notices your missing.”

He turned as though to lead her away. Beth knew he was going to take her back - to her quarters - to Negan. He was an obedient dog now, doing his masters bidding, and she'd hate him for it if he wasn't so damn pathetic.

She coughed, loudly, doubling over as she did so. Her fist to her mouth, she stamped her foot as the fit took her over.

“What's wrong with you now?”

Beth glared at him, resentfully, her eyes watering. 

“Jeeze Dwight, you don't have to be such a jerk,” She accused, clearing her throat one last time for good measure. “I had a tickle. Be happy I didn't just pee all over the place.”

As she expected he would, Dwight balked. His lip furled and he shook his head, turning away from her again, this time in open disgust.

Good, she thought, he hadn't noticed what she had managed to kick under the cell door. Her heart broke at being so close to that door and yet so far from what sat behind it, but at least she had managed to get this far. At least now she knew she stood a chance.

She followed. Ever obedient. Ever dutiful. Ever making plans to be anything but.

I will be back, she promised herself. She promised Daryl. God as my witness, we will walk out of here together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He jumped as though a live grenade had been thrown under the door. Whatever it was, it scraped against the cement, coming to a stop in the middle of the cell. His eyes squinting in the dark, he settled again, staring suspiciously at the strange red brick.

No. Fucking. Way.

He fell on it like the ravenous animal he was, getting through half before he even stopped for a breath. The chocolate coated his tongue, his lips, the back of his throat. The heady smell of it thick in his nose, the effects of the sugar almost instant in his bloodstream. He sat back, his hunger satiated for a moment.

He didn't ask how or why. He didn't care. His head back against the wall, he said a silent word of thanks to whoever had risked him this rare gift.

And he knew it was a gift. One he could get in trouble for. Without thinking twice about it, he devoured the last of the incriminating evidence. Wrapper and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I truly love all the feedback.


	8. Maybe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies for the minor cliffhanger, but I do promise to post the next chapter very, very soon. Also, I have a five year old, so I tell lies like that all the time. (Kidding about the lies, it should be up within 24 hours.)

It was the day after the KitKat. After seeing Carl and finding out about Daryl, and Beth was on full alert. Ever since coming to The Sanctuary and becoming another piece of Negan’s property she had done everything in her power to ignore where she was. She retreated inside herself, indifferent to her surroundings, but not any more. Daryl was near and her senses were positively humming with anticipation of what that meant.

They were getting out. Together. She was going to make sure of it.

She was sitting by the window in parlor, ever aware, ever vigilant in her watch. She was looking for any sign of Daryl, any at all. How could she have been so blind to have not seen him before? Surely if she had just paid more attention she would have known he was there. Seen something or overheard anything. She would have felt him. Recognized his presence. 

He had tried so hard to teach her to be one with her surroundings. In the woods to be aware of every twig snap, every rustle of leaves. He could tell the sound of squirrel in the trees over a bird, and a rabbit over a fox, the undead over the living. Noises she couldn't even hear half the time. She was ashamed to say she had forgotten her lessons so easily.

She was going to make up for that.

Leaning forward in her seat so she could better see out the window, for once Beth was grateful for the distraction of the other wives. Sherry was sitting behind her, braiding tiny braids in to Beth's ponytail. It was something to do and it gave the image of tranquil obedience. They didn't talk. They merely sat together at the window, Beth watching, Sherry braiding; and that was enough.

“What are you doing, wife?” Negan drawled from across the room. He was sitting on a love seat, his arm draped across the back, his ankle crossed over his knee, the picture of relaxation. 

Beth looked up - they all looked up. That was the problem when he referred to so many women as ‘wife’. But it was Beth who he was staring at. Beth at the window. Beth craning to look out. He arched a brow, asking his question again without saying a word.

“It's a nice day out,” She answered softly.

“Mhm,” Sherry murmured her assent from behind her. “Breeze feels nice.”

Negan’s eyes narrowed for a second before he shrugged it off. Returning to his conversation with one of the other women, Beth returned to her watch.

She had wanted to return to the cells the night before, to try her key while the compound slept, but Negan had made sure to make that impossible for her. They didn't keep record - she didn't think any of the wives really wanted to - but for the most part Negan divided his time equally among them. That was, until it came to actually sleeping. Lately he had started to prefer spending the night in Beth’s room, even after screwing one of his other wives. She didn't try to understand it, except that it had something to do with being near the baby. It was annoying as hell, not to mention inconvenient.

“You sleep. I got watch.”

“You need to sleep too. You’ll be dead on your feet if you don't.”

“I'll be fine.”

“Daryl.”

“I'll wake you up in five hours, then you can take over. Now hush up and get some sleep.”

He sat against a tree, one leg drawn up, the other straight forward. He looked up at her standing over him and then down at his lap.

“The hell you waitin’ on, a written invitation?”

Beth rolled her eyes before dropping down on the ground beside him. She lay down on her side, his thigh her pillow.

“You can be such an ass, sometimes.”

He made a sound - a humph, perhaps in agreement - and settled his arm heavily over her. She faced the campfire, the back of her head to his stomach. His breathing was slow and controlled and she tried to match him. Soon, her eyes closed.

“Sorry.”

“What?” She mumbled.

“For being an ass.”

Beth snorted, then rolled on to her back. Finding a rock imbedded in her hip, she flung it towards the fire.

She looked up at his face - the underside of his jaw. She could smell his distinct scent. Not offensive or anything, but like someone who lived in the outdoors - all primal and woodsmoke. She smelled like it too, now, their scents intermingling so that they became one perfume that they both wore.

“You know, maybe we could find a house. Somewhere more secure. Then one of us wouldn't have to stay awake for watch.”

He looked down at her, not smiling or anything, just looking. With his thumb, he brushed a hair out of her eyes. 

“Maybe.”

She sighed with longing. She hadn't meant to. Hadn't even noticed she had until Sherry gave her hair a tug. Beth glanced over her shoulder at the other woman, found her watching her, and then uncaring, returned her attention to the window.

Below her, a small group of Saviors stood talking, seemingly oblivious to the walkers at the fence line. The Sanctuary was surrounded by a pen of the undead, giving them a perimeter of safety against an attack from the living. Inside the pen, workers corralled the walkers, staking them where necessary, moving them so they wouldn't cluster they way they were known to do.

Beth frowned as one of Negan’s workers struggled with a walker. From the looks of it the man was barely alive himself. Working the fences didn't earn a body many points and from the looks of it, he was already suffering the effects of malnutrition. She watched in horror, wanting to shout out as the man visibility struggled, when a second man, faster and more able in body, came to his rescue. This new worker speared the walker through the chest, steering him away from the would be zombie food, and Beth’s eyes went wide.

“I think I'll go for a walk,” She announced suddenly, jumping to her feet.

Across the room, Negan’s brows shot up. He looked at her as though she had sprouted as second head. 

“Are you shitting me right now?” He drawled.

“I'm sorry, husband,” She apologized modestly, her eyes flicking again to the open window. “It’s just such a nice day out and I thought some fresh air would be nice. Doctor Carson said it might be good to get out some.”

He frowned at her, his face severe. Beth’s heart was like a hummingbirds in her breasts so much so that she thought she might sprout wings and start flitting around the room.

“I could go with her,” Sherry offered from he seat by the window. “She's right. It probably would be good for both her and the baby.”

Beth thought she could kiss her.

Negan was staring a hole through her. His lips parted just so, his eyes were narrowed. A muscle beneath his eye barely twitched as he tried to work the angle. 

“No, Sherry, I don't think that will be necessary,” He told her, clapping his hands on his thighs. Slowly he stood up from his seat, filling the room with his dominating presence. “If little Bethy here wants to go for a walk, why I’d be honored to escort her.”

Damn.

Beth swallowed, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. She didn't want Negan anywhere near her when she came face to face with Daryl, but she didn't look to have much choice now. After the outburst she had just had, saying no would only make him suspicious.

“Well?”

She took a deep breath, “That would be nice, Negan. Thank you.”


	9. Among the Dead and the Living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Daryl comes face to face with a ghost, Beth finds herself too close for comfort with a walker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've looked forward to writing this scene for a few days now. I hope you enjoy it!

It was a piss poor day, the day Daryl realized he was safer among the dead than the living. With the dead he knew what to expect. Don't get yourself backed in a hole you can't get out of. Watch for the mouth. Aim for the head. Easy. The living on the other hand, they were squirrelly bastards. Saying one thing, doing another. Killing for sport - to satisfy a sick bloodlust.

He'd killed. He'd killed a lot. He was the reason Glenn…

Beth had said there were still good people out there. She was wrong. There were no good people left. They were all killers now. Every last one of them, killing for the sake of killing. And he'd kill again too. He'd kill again, and again, and again. He'd kill every last one of the sons of bitches just as soon as he got the chance.

He’d kill Negan. Slow. Painful. He'd do it with his bare hands if he had to. Draw it out the way the bastard had done to Glenn and Abraham.

 _Taking it like a champ_.

“Hey. Hey!” Dwight let out a whistle, finally catching his attention from the gate. “Come on. Time to go.”

Daryl jabbed his blood covered pike in to the dirt, imagining it was that stupid assholes face. Dwight was on the list too, next in line to Negan, though he wasn't particular in the order. He'd kill them all. Tick them off one by one, until there wasn't a Savior left. He'd watch as the whole place burned and piss on the ashes.

As he reached the gate, Dwight made to grab at him. When Daryl went to yank back, Dwight shot him a look, like he wanted Daryl to press his luck.

Yeah, that asshole was going to get it for sure.

Then they were kneeling. All the men in the yard, the Saviors. Each and every last one of them, knees kissing pavement, Daryl being the last to catch on. Negan stood there, a smug smirk on his face, waiting.

Waiting…

Daryl kneeled.

Negan chuckled, “That's a good boy, Daryl. See, it’s not so hard.”

From behind his dark flop of hair, Daryl looked up. The sun was behind the man, making it so he had to squint. He was surprised to see another figure standing there, at his side. A woman, not on her knees. Her hair like a golden halo in the sun, her belly sticking out in front of her like goddamn Virgin Mary in one of Gabriel’s bible tellings.

He knew he shouldn't stare. Knew he wasn't supposed to. But he couldn't help it. She looked so damn much like…

She blinked at him, her blue eyes darting quickly to the man at her side - at Negan - and she shook her head. Just the slightest of movements, barely decipherable.

Daryl flew forward, a rabid growl in his throat. He managed to land a punch, just one, on that son of bitches jaw before he was yanked back his knees hitting the ground hard as the blows started to rain down on him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Negan boomed, the many fists halting their assault. “What the fuck is this? I thought we were good. We had an understanding. You don't go doing stupid shit like that and Lucille and I won't have to give you a lesson in fucking manners.”

Sticky blood trickled down Daryl’s cheek from one of the blows and he was breathing hard. He was getting too old for this. He had been smoking too long and living too rough all these years, but was too stupid to care. He could take a whooping - had been taking them his whole life. As far as he was concerned, Negan and his goons could bring it.

But what the fuck was Beth doing here? Or at least maybe Beth. She couldn't possibly be his Beth. Not here. Not with Negan. Not looking like she was about to pop out a kid at any second.

And wait, where’d she go now?

Two of The Saviors had him forced down to his knees again with his arms spread wide while someone pulled his head back by the hair, limiting his field of vision. She wasn't in front of him anymore. She wasn't beside Negan or part of the circle The Saviors made around him. Where the hell had she gone off to?

Then he saw her, just within his sight lines, backing away. Her eyes wide with fear and her trembling hands to her mouth. She was backing away. Away from him. Away from Negan. Away from the whole damn group, and directly in to the fence.

Daryl grunted, earning him another quick sock to the temple.

“Now what's it going to be?” Negan demanded. “Are we going to have to remind you of where the fuck you are?”

Daryl didn't answer.

Attracted to the noise of the fight, the walkers had started to cluster again, this time at the fence. Maybe-Beth had the fingers of one hand laced in the chain link, her eyes glassy with tears as she rooted herself there, groaning gasping walkers at her back, living monsters at her front and she gave the fence a little shake. No one was paying attention to her. No one but Daryl.

“Okay then, I guess this is the way it's going to be,” Negan drawled.

He reared back his booted foot. Swiftly and without mercy, he gave a hard kick to Daryl’s stomach. His vision flashed white hot for a second and pinpoints of lightening flashed before his eyes. He groaned, his stomach tight, as he tried to double over only to be roughly yanked up by his arms again.

There was a high pitched scream suddenly - piercing and panicked.

“Negan! Neeeeeegan!” Maybe-Beth shrilled.

Her back to the fence, one of the walkers had her by the hair. She was trying to pull away and couldn't, her hand now to the hair knotted at the back of her head.

“What in the shit?” Negan bellowed.

Then taking a knife from his hip, he rushed at her.

“Hold still. Goddamn it, hold fucking still,” He slapped her arm away, aiming for the snarling walker directly at her shoulder.

One kill thrust and the thrashing stop. Maybe-Beth was whimpering between wretched gasps, the side of her face splattered with gore as Negan worked to disentangle her buttery locks. As soon as she was free she pitched forward in his arms, her legs too weak to stand and he lowered her to her knees.

“Get me some water!” He barked and two men from Daryl’s circle rushed to do so.

“You're fine! You're fine, goddamn it!” He was ordering her too. Demanding that she be alright.

“Shut your mouth!” He snapped at Maybe-Beth, her delicate chin in his meaty hand. “Stop looking like a goddamn fish and shut you mouth.”

He was wiping her face with the scarf from his neck, cleaning the blood from her cheeks. She clamped her mouth shut, her nose flaring with her panting breaths, as she clung to Negan's arms. Someone gave him a bottle of water and he poured it over her face causing her to cough and sputter, then she was crying again.

“Negan,” She whimpered pitifully.

“You're fine. Goddamn it, Beth, you're fine.”

It felt like another blow to the stomach. Daryl watched in sick fascination as Definitely-Beth clutched at Negan, and Negan to her.

“You're fine, you hear me? I said you're fine.”

She was shaking like a goddamn leaf. She took a quick survey of her surroundings, her eyes glancing over Daryl still forced on his knees and fresh tears flooded her eyes. Negan was helping her to her feet then, and her legs buckled in an ungraceful swoon.

“Son of a bitch,” He swore, scooping her up in his arms. “Get the doctor!”

“What about him?” One of the men holding Daryl questioned.

“Put him back in time out!” Negan ordered, his back already to them.

As they hauled him up, Daryl watched in shocked disbelief as that blonde head lulled against Negan’s shoulder. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. Then he saw, just for a second, a bright blue eye peek open at him over Negan’s arm. She met his stare for a just a second before closing them again.

He took a sharp breath.

Beth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'll ask... did she know what she was doing?


	10. I'm Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Beth's not so close call.

Pretending to be asleep was exhausting. Every muscle in her body protested being still. She wanted to move - to run - yet she lay in bed, helpless. Like some sort of idiotic sleeping princess in a storybook. Well she wasn't a princess and she was asleep, and she sure as hell wasn’t helpless, she had proven as much at the fence when she had stopped Negan from further abusing Daryl.

She had only wanted to see him. Just to know up close and for certain that it was truly Daryl that she had seen from the window. As soon as she had her confirmation she had meant to leave. She had planned to feign exhaustion or hunger or any reason really to go, but Negan wasn't having any of it. She had said she wanted fresh air; he was insuring she got it.

Damn it, Negan.

And dam it, Daryl. Why did he have to go around being such a hothead all the time? She didn't yet know the reason for him being under Negan’s rule, but why couldn't he just this once know what was good for him? All he had to do was kneel and not react.

Just as quickly as she had that thought, she was overcome again with joy. It was really Daryl. Her Daryl, alive and breathing! So close that she had been able to make out the gray-blue of his eyes. So close that she could have reached out and touched him - brushed the hair out of his face.

So close…

So close that she was terrified. She had seen up close Negan’s wrath. She was all too aware of what he was capable of. What was the monster who claimed to be her husband doing with Daryl? And Carl? Where were the others? Negan had mentioned Carl’s father - did that mean Rick was somewhere near? Who else had survived the attack on the prison only to wind up in Negan’s ruthless clutches? She had to know.

Her mind was going crazy and yet she lay perfectly still. She wasn't alone. Dr. Carson and Negan were both there speaking in hushed tones; the doctor sounding harried, Negan insistent.

“I've done everything I can! She doesn't appear to be in any distress, she wasn't bit. My guess is she fainted from fright.”

“Your guess?”

Negan was growling. Beth could picture his tense jaw, his locked teeth, the spittle clinging to his lip. How many times had she seen him make that face when he wasn't getting his way? She decided to take pity on the doctor and come out of her swoon.

“Negan?” She said from the bed, making sure to sound extra pitiful and weak. “W-what happened?”

She made to sit up. In an instant Negan was at the bed, forcing her back down by the shoulders.

“You passed out,” He told her. “Be still.”

“Oh.” She looked from one face to the other, all wide eyed and innocent. “I-I’m sorry.”

“For fucks sake Beth, what were you thinking?” Negan demanded, though he lacked his typical bravado. He was sitting on the side of the bed, holding her by the shoulders still as he stared hard in to her face.

_I was thinking if I didn't do something, you'd kill him._

“I-I don't know. I-I don't know w-what happened,” She stammered, then looked to the doctor.

“Is the baby alright?” She asked, though she already knew the answer.

“As far as I can tell, he seems fine,” The doctor answered. “Pregnant women have been known to faint for all sorts of reasons. Sudden drops in blood pressure, low blood sugar. It's not uncommon. I recommend rest though, at least for a little while.”

“You can go,” Negan announced tersely, not even bothering to look at him.

Dr. Carson visibly winced. The man was so desperate to stay in Negan’s good graces that he wilted under the slightest harsh word.

“I'll come back by and check in later,” Mumbling, the doctor collected his thing before hurrying out.

Negan’s eyes twitched as the door closed.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn't mean to,” Beth lay back on the pillow, the picture of frailty.

“Don't you ever do that again.” It was another order, one he meant to have followed.

Thoroughly chastised, her eyes dropped to the swell of her stomach beneath the covers. It was hot in the room but she didn’t dare make a complaint. Not now. Not with Negan hovering the way he was.

He sighed, finally releasing his hold on her shoulders. She dared to look up at him from beneath downcast lashes. He looked… tired? And he ran a hand over his haggard face.

“I'm sorry, darlin’,” He apologized after a minute, which only made things worse for her. Apologetic Negan was just as unnerving if not more so than charming Negan. You just never knew what you were going to get with him.

“I am,” He insisted when she didn't respond.

When she remained silent still he took her by the chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him. Even still, she refused to meet his eyes, focusing instead on his chin. It was a risky move, but one she felt willing to make.

“I said I'm fucking sorry, Beth, but you scared the shit out of me. What if you had gotten hurt? What about the baby?”

She wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to tell him where to stick his sorry apologies and his ill begotten concerns for her safety. she wanted to laugh at him and tell him the true paternity of her baby. That just like he had with his other wives, he had failed to produce the heir he so desperately wanted.

She of course did none of these things. Instead she worried her lower lip, and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“I-I’m sorry, Negan. Really. I don't know what happened,” Her voice had just the right amount of quiver to it.

Letting go of her chin, his fingers trailed to her hair where little flecks of brain matter still remained. In her months in The Sanctuary she had all but forgotten the distinct smell of decay. Her nose crinkled as he picked the pieces from her golden locks.

“Poor sweet, little Bethy, and after Sherry worked so hard on your hair this morning,” He stuck out his lower lip, a mock look of sympathy on his otherwise dark face. “Here, lets see if we can't get you sorted out.”

Sitting her up on the bed, Negan positioned himself behind her. With thick blundering fingers, he began to undo the tiny intricate braids that Sherry had so skillfully fashioned. Her scalp already tender from her run-in with the walker, she winced against his every careless tug. He had no idea.

“How's that feel?” Negan asked.

Beth closed her eyes.

“You like that, girl?” Daryl graveled in her ear, his somehow delicate fingers working snarls from her hair.

“Yes,” She purred as she lounged between his knees. “It feels so good.”

“It feels good,” Beth answered flatly, the tears in her eyes going unnoticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank my sister for her help in this chapter. She connected the dots when I couldn't seem to.


	11. Another Dead Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl. Just Daryl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, not so sweet. I apologize.

_Thwack._

“What do you want from me, girl, huh?”

“I want you to stop acting like you don't give a crap about anything! Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you. It's bullshit!”

“Is that what you think?”

_Thwack._

“That's what I know.”

“You don't know nothing.”

_Thwack._

“I know you look at me and just see another dead girl.”

He felt the crunch of bones. Felt the blood ooze between busted knuckles. He sank against the wall, his wretched sob tearing at his goddamn throat.

She wasn't dead. He'd seen as much. She wasn't just another dead girl. She was fucking alive. Beth was alive. She was alive and it was killing him.

She was here. Of all the goddamn places for her to be, she was here. Probably been the whole damned time and he’d been too stupid to know it. She might as well have been dead the way he'd gone and given up on her. And now what? He couldn't do a goddamn thing for her. Couldn't protect her. Couldn't be no man. He was locked in a damned cage like some sort of animal. Might as well have been back at the damned funeral home. He hadn't been able to protect her then neither.

What the hell was she doing in a place like this? She didn't belong here. She was too sweet; too damn soft. So innocent. She wasn't no killer. She couldn't be like them. She didn't belong here. The hell did they want with her, anyway?

He knew what they wanted. God, did he know. He wasn't blind. He'd seen it. Seen her in that goddamn black dress like those other women - those wives - prancing around all pretty like it wasn't the end of the goddamn world. He wasn't blind. He saw her. He saw the swell of her damn stomach - the bastard that the son of a bitch had put there. Goddamn it!

Why? Why, Beth? Christ, why did she have to be here?

Maybe it was for the best. What the hell could he do? He sure as shit hadn't done nothing to ever take care of her. Maybe it was better for her now.

No, it couldn't be. Not here. Not with that lunatic.

But maybe it was. What had he ever had to offer? A life on the road? Crossbow lessons and some goddamn squirrels for supper?

“Pretty soon I won't need you at all.”

“Yeah, keep on tracking.”

Maybe it could have been enough. Maybe…

No, it wouldn't have been. She deserved more. She deserved better. Better than him.

Better than goddamn Negan. She deserved better than this goddamn place, that was for damn sure.

Except she was safe here. There was supplies. Food. A roof over her head. Hell, they had a damn doctor. She needed that now by the looks of it. Women died in childbirth without doctors. Lori had and she was a hell of a lot stronger than Beth ever was.

No. Beth was strong. She was tough. Tough enough to make it this far without him.

She didn't need him….

“You're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon.”

Goddamn, had she been right.

Why couldn't she have just been another dead girl?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't take credit for the lines of dialogue in this chapter. They come from those episodes in season 4 that we all know so well.


	12. Sometimes the Princess Slays the Dragon to Save The Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for that reunion. :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took longer than I expected! I'm also trying to finish a quilt for the county fair and my sister is moving here in a week from Oklahoma. So much excitement!!!

She was the picture of serenity. Curled on her side, her body cocooned around the small life in her womb, her head cradled in the crook of her elbow. A candle burned low on the table, golden fingers of light gently caressing her cherubic face. The doctor had said she should rest, so she did.

Watching her, Negan gave a restless sigh.

“Think you can go an hour or two without getting in to trouble?” He asked, running a thumb over her plump lower lip.

She opened her eyes, blinking sleepily at him with a silly little half smile of contentment on her face.

“Good,” He nodded.

Throwing a leg over hers, he forced her on to her back. Straddling her thighs, he bent over her, the orb of her stomach between them, and kissed her mouth.

“Be a good girl now,” He ordered. “I'll be back.”

“Where are you going?” She questioned meekly as he grabbed Lucille from beside the bed. She tried to appear unworried as she rested her head on the pillow.

With the bat lazing on his shoulder, he stopped at the door with that cat who caught the canary smirk on his face.

“To get laid,” He answered, and then. “Aw, don't go getting jealous on me now, wife. You knew what I was when you married me.”

Beth gave a gentle sigh of her own, an audible eye roll.

“That I did,” She said. And if she didn't know then, she certainly knew now. She knew exactly the monster that he was and would have been a fool ever to forget it.

The door closed behind him with a soft click. Again, there was no lock but Negan expected her to stay. To be good and obedient. She opened her eyes again slowly to be sure, and then she threw back the covers with a flourish. Screw good and obedient.

The key she had found was taped under her nightstand. Quickly, she pried it free and held it in her palm. After her thwarted attempt the day before she had experimented with the key on several doors to find it worked on them all. What she had in her possession was a master key, and what luck too seeing as she was going to need it.

She was getting out, tonight, with Daryl Dixon, if it killed her. On her own she would have never been able to do it, but knowing Daryl was there emboldened her somehow. They would escape The Sanctuary. Find their people. Carl at the very least. Maybe Rick. They would be fine, she just had to have faith.

“Please God, do this for me. For us. You owe us that much,” She prayed as she headed towards the door.

She stole in to the darkened hallway in nothing more than her light cotton nightgown and bare feet. To take her clothes would be to give herself away too soon. This way when Negan returned and found everything as if should be minus her presence, his first assumption would be that she had merely gone to the bathroom or the kitchen. He might look for her then, but without suspecting her escape. And it could be hours or days even before anyone looked in Daryl’s cell. This could work.

It had to work.

“Please, please, please, God. If you're still there, please see us through this. Please let us get out.”

Knowing the way now, she crept on silent feet, sticking to the wall. She startled at every shadow, listened for the sound of approaching danger. She was completely defenseless, carrying with her no more than her wit, and even that was questionable. Literally stumbling over it, she found a piece of metal pipe about the length of her arm and picked it up. She felt a little better then, but not much.

Finding the cell was easy this time. The CD player was still posted outside the door, blaring the same stupid song. She wondered how it wasn't driving the other men that occupied the hall absolutely batty, then figured that they were probably immune to psychological warfare at this point.

Several darkened apartment doors were open, their residents engaged elsewhere. She kept to the shadows, eyeing the closed doors just as warily as the opened ones. At any moment one of those doors could open and she could be caught. What would she do? What could she say to explain her presence there?

Her hands were shaking and her heart beat so hard in her chest that she was sure it would suddenly stop. All she needed was one of those doors across the hall to open. She would drop dead from fright outside Daryl’s cell door, and they would be none the wiser as to what she had been doing there to begin with.

Negan would be so mad.

But none of the doors opened. No one chanced across her in her nightshift in the hall demanding to know what the hell she was doing. In fact, this had been easy. Too easy. And her key slid in to the lock without so much as a whisper of protest.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Her stomach rolled violently as the reek of excrement and unclean human assaulted her nose. Then, her eyes watering as she peered cautiously in to the cell, her heart shattered.

It was empty.

She bit back a disheartened whimper.

“The hell you doing here?” His voice was dark and full of grit coming from the shadows. He had pressed himself against the wall, expecting an ambush.

Beth wanted to scream with joy. The smell no longer an issue, she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and never let go. She wanted to kiss him and feel his strong arms around her once more.

Daryl stepped out of the shadows. He looked completely wrung out. Dried blood crusted the side of his face and he kept his fists at his side. Never had she seen him so beat down. Not at the farm when he'd been looking for the little girl, not on the road during the hard winter when he'd been depended on to supply food for the group, not at the prison, not even at the moonshine shack when he put all the blame for everything that had happened on himself. He was more broken now than she had ever seen and somehow she felt culpable. Culpable because somehow Negan had done this while she had been completely unaware.

“Come on, I'm getting you out of here,” She whispered.

Daryl looked at her a moment, his eyes dark behind a fall of greasy hair.

“No,” He finally graveled.

“No?” Her eyes must have bulged at him as she choked. “What the hell do you mean, ‘no’. Come on now!”

She watched as his eyes darted downward, to her thin nightgown, to her stomach, then back up again. He couldn't stand to look at her.

“No,” He repeated. “You belong here now.”

“The hell I do, and neither do you,” When she reached for him, he snatched away. “Come on!”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The voice came from behind her. Beth’s eyes went wide as her blood ran icy-hot.

She reeled around on her bare feet, her center of gravity thrown off by her belly, and did what only felt natural. She cracked The Savior across the throat with her pipe. His name was Dave, and he was making a wide eyed and astonished face similar to a fish as he gasped and choked, trying to get air through a broken windpipe.

_Stop looking like a goddamn fish and shut you mouth._

In her defense, she had been aiming for his jaw.

Daryl suddenly shot forward and grabbed her staggered victim. With his hand clamped over Dave’s mouth, he dragged him in to the cell with little fight. Barring a tracheotomy, Dave would slowly suffocate, hopefully before anyone could come to his aide.

Daryl turned on Beth then. For a moment their eyes held in silent communication as Dave gurgled on the floor of the cell.

They were really doing this.

There could be no going back.

He grabbed her roughly by the hand. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we good with this? I'm hoping we're good with this. 
> 
> It's not that Daryl doesn't want to escape with Beth, he's wanting what's best for her. But fear not, our badass biker prince is going to be back at it from here on out.
> 
> Also, I'm killing Rapey Davey because I freaking can. He's an ass, and deserves it.
> 
> As always, I love the feed back! Y'all are keeping me going.


	13. The Empty Jar of Peanut Butter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Daryl is an ass, and eats an entire jar of peanut butter washed down by his foot.

Beth had forgotten how strong he could be. Squeezing her fingers in his viselike grip she was sure he would break them. She didn't entirely mind though. Holding her hand the way he was insured her that he was real.

They slunk down the hall, sticking to the shadows, Daryl taking the lead. When they heard voices approaching they exchanged a look. Wide eyed in the dark, Beth nodded towards an open door and they slipped inside, closing the door silently behind them.

Only then did he let go of her hand like she had burned him.

He had also relieved her of her weapon.

She tried to not let it hurt her feelings.

They were in an apartment, small but efficient. Not horribly unlike the one where Beth had found her key the day before. In fact in the dark it could have been the same room. They all looked the same, lacking in personality.

Daryl immediately began rifling through drawers. He wanted a gun, a knife, a bazooka, anything! Anything he could get his hands on that could be of use. 

He fell on a rack of clothes like a predatory animal, shucking his stained prisoner sweats. Beth, who remained near the door listening, tried for the sake of propriety not to look at him. She already knew the scars on his back, the painful reminders of his rough upbringing. She didn't want to see if there were new ones. Not now. Not yet.

She noticed a small table by the door with small, hand carved, wooden figurines. She had seen them before. Playing her fingers over one, Beth lay it down like a fallen chess piece.

“This must be Dwight’s room,” She whispered more to herself than to her companion.

Daryl grunted. Low. Guttural. Familiar. 

Beth looked to him as he wrested a clean shirt over his head.

“Dwight’s -.”

He cut her off harshly, “I know who the son of a bitch is.”

She blinked in understanding. “Oh.”

Daryl only grunted again, a feral look on his dark face. 

Finding a jar of peanut butter on a shelf and a spoon, he spun open the lid and dropped in to a chair as though he planned to stay a while. Beth’s cheek twitched in memory; white trash brunch and slurping jelly from the jar.

“Too bad there’s no pigs feet,” She said it softly, as a gentle nudge to let him know that she remembered.

His eyes moved up her slowly, the spoon still in his mouth. He pulled it from his lips with a pop, having sucked it clean. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to her so he said nothing, digging in for another spoonful.

Daryl Dixon was a man of few words. She had been used to his strong silence before, but now paired with the disgusted way he was looking at her, it cut deeper than she would have thought possible.

She had to look away to hide how bad it hurt. 

“Are there others?” She asked in barely a whisper. “Our people, Daryl, are they here?”

He looked at her again with tortured eyes. His jaw tight, he shook his head.

“Not here. Out there,” He answered in a sort of growl, nodding towards the high window. Towards freedom.

“Who? Maggie? Glenn?” She demanded, her voice reedy. “I saw Carl, that's how I knew where to find you. Daryl, who made it out of the prison?”

He made that low grunting sound in the back of his throat. She could tell he didn't want to tell her, and that's scared her.

“Tell me.”

“Rick and Michonne. Carol, Sasha. Tyrese was with us for a while. Carl. Judith.”

“Judith?” Her face lighted at the mention of the sweet baby she had practically raised in the prison.

“Mhm,” He graveled.

Her soft smile faded. He hadn't mentioned Maggie or Glenn in his list.

“Not my sister?”

Daryl’s mouth was pursed tight as he dropped his spoon in the now empty jar.

She took a hesitant step towards him, “Please, tell me what happened.”

His chest rose and fell beneath his shirt as he released a burdened sigh.

“We met more along the way. Good people. Abraham, Rosita, hell Eugene. We even got ourselves a priest now. Got the idea that we might find somethin’ in Washington D.C.. Answers maybe,” He shrugged. “Don't matter no more. We found a community; more survivors. A safe zone. Lost some people, but it wasn't too bad. Shit was going good there for a while, until it wasn't.”

Beth worried her bottom lip. She didn't need him to say it.

“Negan?”

He looked away in disgust again.

“Son of a bitch killed Abraham right there in front of us. Beat him…” His face contorted in to a painful knot as he closed his eyes. “Goddamn psychopath.”

She didn't disagree.

“Maggie and Glenn were there,” He finally confessed. “I-I…”

Beth watched wide eyed, as he came undone. His eyes still closed, his fingers pressed in to the sockets as he choked on the words.

“He killed Glenn. Maggie was right fucking there and I couldn't stop it. It's my fault.”

She rushed to him. Making soft soothing sounds that weren't exactly words, she tried to cradle his head against her. For a moment he even allowed it. Then his nose brushed the curve of her stomach and he recoiled.

From the speed in which he shoved away from her you would have thought she were on fire. The chair he was in slammed back and for a second Beth feared the noise alerting someone of their presence. When no one came to the door she looked back at him, the pain of his rejection in her baby blue eyes.

“Daryl?”

He was out of the chair now, his back against the low counter that lined the wall. 

“What the hell, Beth, huh?” He gritted. “Just what are you doing here?”

She didn't answer right away. Her chin dimpling, she looked sheepishly to her feet.

“They were waiting at the road when the walkers attacked the funeral home,” She whispered, pleading with a look that he might understand. “They tied me up and threw me in the trunk. I tried, Daryl, you have to know I tried.”

He grunted, “This where they brought you?”

She sighed with her nod. “I started in a cell same as you.”

“Didn't take you too long to get out of it by the look of things.”

She winced at the implication of his words, then dared to meet his eyes.

“No, it didn't,” She agreed. “I had my reasons though.”

“Had your reasons, huh?” He spoke through clenched teeth, a whispered shout. “What, no other option but to let him knock you up?”

One hand flew to her mouth, the other protectively to her stomach.

“Is that what you think of me? That I whored myself out at the first opportunity?”

His eyes narrowed to icy slits in the dark. “What would you call it, Greene?”

Beth’s full lips quivered. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. But she wanted to.

“Maybe I did, but at the time I didn't see how I had much of a choice. How was I supposed to make it back on my own, huh? In case you haven't noticed we’re a ways away from Atlanta.”

He growled again, “I get it. You had no choice. You didn't know what else to do. Just don't know why you had go off and let the bastard breed you like a bitch.”

Her slap cracked so hard across his cheek that her hand really did burn. She was panting, her swollen breasts heaving beneath her cotton shift. He had said some nasty things to her before, but nothing like this.

She leveled him with a growl of her own, “The only bastard I ever let breed me was you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no apologies. Just remember, Daryl has a history of saying dumb shit when he's hurt/angry.


	14. The Good Ones Don't Make It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape.

It was his turn to blink. The only thing about that slap that had hurt had been who it came from. He could handle getting smacked, especially by some half pint girl. It was her words that wounded him. Cut him like a goddamn fillet knife; peeling back his skin and opening up his chest.

Beth’s baby - the child that she carried; that was a part of her - was his?

“We should go,” He rasped, stalking towards the door.

“There are stairs at the end of the hall,” The fight out of her, she was barely speaking in a whisper. “At the top there's a door to the outside. Only one guard.”

Daryl stopped suddenly. Turning on her, he looked her up and down, slowly this time. She looked so damn vulnerable. Bare feet, bare legs, sleeveless nightdress so thin that he could tell she didn't have a stitch on underneath. He let his eyes linger on her, truly seeing her. Damn if that didn't hurt him too.

He grabbed a flannel shirt from the rack of clothes and thrust it at her.

“Put that on.”

The sleeves hung a half inch past her fingertips. He watched her fruitless effort to push them up her wrist, and then her shrug of acceptance when they slipped back down. She was going to have to make do.

One hand on the door knob he had the metal pipe in the other and gave her a silent nod. Beth knew. She had to know. They had spent over a month alone together; communicating with nods and looks. That time they’d spent half the night and most of the next day shut in the trunk of a busted out Buick. He hadn't had to say shit to her, she just knew.

She stepped to the side, kept behind him. Made herself small against the wall in case anything came through the door when he opened it. He checked right, left, then right again. Then gave her the nod. All clear.

His stolen boots were too tight. He wasn't picky - never had been - but even unlaced, they pinched something fierce. Each careful step was a reminder to be on the lookout for a size 11, even if he had to take them off a walker.

Beth’s fingers grazed his wrist. It sent a jolt through him. For weeks after she was gone he had felt her ghost touch. He'd look back expecting her to be right there, and when she wasn't it crushed him. Now she was there again and he'd forgotten what it felt like. Those eyes watching him expectantly. The trust.

He held a hand up, stopping her as they reached the stairwell door. Listened. Opened. Checked. Right, left, right again. Up and down to the floor below. Clear. And he nodded her in.

Daryl walked with his left shoulder forward, his right hand back, the pipe firm in his grasp. Cautious. On the ready should he need to react. Beth kept close. Alert. Watchful.

It was an open stairwell; the kind where you could lean over the railing and spit on the people below. There was only one floor below them - the subbasement. They were creeping up the stairs as fast as they possibly could without making undue noise when they heard the door below them slam open with a bang.

They froze. Stuck halfway between where they were going and where they had been, Daryl flattened Beth against the wall, his strong arm protective in front of her. They could hear voices - two of them - and heavy footfalls on the stairs coming up. Daryl’s stomach filled with a hot knot of dread.

His jaw was tight, his lips pursed, and he jerked his chin up. Moving his arm, Beth was surprisingly light on her feet given her new girth and Daryl was fast on her heels up the stairs. The door was unlocked, and he was reaching over her shoulder pulling it open as soon as Beth had turned the knob. Quickly, he positioned himself again so he would be the first in the line of fire as they stepped out together in to the cool night air.

She had her hand on his bicep, squeezing. He looked over his shoulder at her and she nodded to the left. This way, she said without saying a word. He made a low sound of assent and took the lead.

This was too easy. The door that they'd just come through did not open again behind them. He could see a line of motorcycles, prime for picking. Even without the keys it would be nothing for him to hot-wire one and they quickened their steps.

Then he saw it. Sitting at the end of the row, looking like it was waiting for them - his own goddamn bike. When had that gotten here? The hell if it mattered. He didn't need a key for it. He'd installed a kill switch and a push start just so he wouldn't. This really was too goddamn easy.

“Keep watch,” He instructed, handing over their weapon as he started to look over his metal and gear Frankenstein. This was like goddamn fate or something. Like it was meant to be.

Until it wasn't.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?”

Goddamn. He knew it was too easy.

The big ambling oaf was looking at Beth, a sandwich halfway to his goddamn mouth, not threatening at all, or even tense for that matter. Beth was all doe eyed and innocent with her too big flannel shirt open over her chaste-if-it-wasn't-too-goddamn-thin nightie and the pipe hidden behind her back. Daryl realized the asshole hadn't even seen him crouched beside the bikes.

“Does the boss know you're out here?” The idiot asked her.

Beth’s jaw was slack open as she shook her head slowly, no. Her eyes flicked once as Daryl moved like a cat stalking prey. One foot in front of the other, coming up from behind, never for a moment taking his eyes off his intended victim. In one quick motion he raised his right hand, beaconed with a flex of the fingers, and caught the pipe that Beth subsequently threw, all before the fat bastard knew what was happening.

He grunted with the exertion of his swing. Then a second, and a third. Again as he heard the squelch of brain and soft tissue. Double fisting the pipe, he swung again and again, even after the oblivious son of a bitch hit the ground, the faces from that night flashing in front of his eyes as he reared back again.

_AbrahamGlennMaggieRickAbrahamGlennSashaRositaAbrahamGlennEugeneCarlAbrahamGlennMichonneAaronAbrahamGlenn_

Beth!

Beth, alive. Beth, tugging on his sleeve. Beth, pulling him back in to the present, telling him that they needed to go. That they needed to hurry.

With a half strangled sob lodged in his throat, he gave his very dead victim one last swift kick before taking Rick’s revolver from the fat asshole’s belt.

“Son of a bitch, ain't yours,” He accused, before snatching Beth’s wrist, “C’mon.”

“Wait,” She hissed, pulling back.

Daryl watched as she tucked her hair behind her ear, bending over the body.

“Sorry Joey,” She apologized softly as she took the long range radio from his hip. “You were always decent to me.”

“Ain't none of them decent,” Daryl growled.

Her pink lips in a grim line, she only shrugged.

“Maybe not. Maybe it's like you said before, the good ones don't make it.” She looked down at the mutilated Fat Joey and sighed. “Lets go.”

He didn't even think to point out that she had made it.


	15. For Dear Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the woods...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I'm not sure when I will post the next one. My sister is arriving from Ooooooklahoma in a few short hours!

She had never been on the back of a motorcycle before. Horses sure, but this wasn't a horse. Not even close. And as far as she could tell Daryl expected her to just hang on, which she was, for dear life. Still, it was the safest she had felt in months. Since a candlelit dinner and talks of a hypothetical future in a world with just the two of them.

“We could plant a garden,” He made the suggestion almost sheepishly, watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. “Like we had at the prison.”

She looked at him, a genuine smile spread across her face, “Are you looking to be a farmer now, Mr. Dixon?”

His mouth turned up in a dry smirk and he gave a non-committal shrug. He didn't say anything right off, the silence lingering but not wholly uncomfortable.

“Could work,” He finally said after a few minutes. “Staying here. I could hunt like before, while you tend the house. Maybe we stick around here a while. The people from before come back, we’ll just make it work. They may be nuts, but maybe it’ll be alright. And if they don't come back around…”

Beth smiled again, biting her lip. “We could have a real home.”

Daryl snorted, mulling her words, “If you wanted. It'd be better than being out there.”

“Do you want to? I mean, did you ever? You said you ran around with Merle before, but did you ever want a house with, you know, a girl?” She was chewing her lip again, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

He gave her that look then, intense and all knowing. The one where she felt like he was looking directly in to her soul, seeing her every thought and desire. Like he really knew her. A warm flush ran through her, welling at the base of her spine. No one had ever looked at her like that. Not Maggie, certainly not their dad. Definitely not Jimmy or Zach. When Daryl looked at her it was like he was the first to ever truly see her. Like she wasn't just some dumb kid that needed looking after anymore. Sure, they had started out that way but now, now he looked at her like she was something more and it made her heart beat a little quicker in her chest.

His gaze dropped and slowly, he shook his head.

Beth felt a tiny hole start to tear in her heart and let out a disappointed sigh.

“Told you I never made a habit of wanting what I couldn’t have before,” His voice thick with grit in a way that she had come to find soothing.

“Right. I know,” She had tried to laugh it off; to pretend like she hadn't wanted him to say that he would have wanted a life with her even without a zombie apocalypse. 

He looked at her again, truly looked.

“That don't mean I don't want it now. Here, with you like this - it’s like I said, you’re mine.”

Her breath hitched as she looked up at him again. A jar of jelly and a spoon in his hand and the flicker of candlelight playing across his face.

“I want it,” He graveled.

“Oh,” She breathed, her mouth unsure of what it wanted to do. She was stuck somewhere between wanting to smile and bite her lip. She didn't get a chance to do either. There was a rattle of cans from the front porch and a dogs bark.

“Ugh,” Daryl let out a exasperated groan as he took one last bite of his supper. He held a finger as though telling her to hold that thought.

“I’m gunna give that mutt one more chance,” He said, opening the jar of pigs feet.

The rushing air roared in her ears, her hair whipping in her face. With her cheek against his shoulder blade, Beth squeezed tighter around Daryl’s waist, thankful for the solidity of his body. For his wholeness.

He veered the bike suddenly off road in to a thick wood. The motorcycle bumped roughly, causing the headlight to bounce wildly through the trees. Daryl reached back with one hand, checking that she was still right in her seat with a touch to the thigh, his fingers rough with the calluses she remembered but not at all unkind. They kept going.

Beth grimaced with every rough jolt, her teeth clicking together as they came down hard over a rock. This was nothing like riding a horse. Her backside ached clear up in to her lower back and every time she tried to adjust on her precarious seat, the bike pitched again. She didn't know how much more she could take, but she didn't want to stop either. Every inch suffered was an inch farther away from The Sanctuary and Negan.

But they did stop. In the middle of a small clearing, Daryl cut the engine. Standing astride the bike, the sudden silence was deafening. The skilled tracker surveyed their surroundings with narrowed eyes, listening. Beth kept completely still.

“Come on,” He grunted once he was sure. He nudged her off the back of the motorcycle.

“Shouldn't we keep going?” She asked, her voice sounding weary.

Daryl shook his head, a movement she only barely caught in the waning light of the moon.

“Gunna have to walk the rest,” He kept his voice low. “We can't go to Alexandria, it's the first place they'll look. And if we take the bike to the Hilltop they’ll know I'm there.”

There were a thousand questions running through her head, but she only asked one. “How far is it?”

He looked around, getting his bearings. 

“Four miles,” He answered with a eastward jerk of his chin. At least she thought it was eastward. She trusted Daryl’s sense of direction implicitly, her own, not so much. “Think you can make it?”

In the dark, she gave him the most resolute of looks. “Yes.”

He grunted, either in doubt or agreement, and they started walking. They made it ten yards before she let out a pained hiss.

Always ready to be on the defensive, Daryl jumped, then settled when she waved him off. 

“It's fine,” She assured him. “Just stepped on a rock.”

Another phlegmy rumble. “The hell you doing running around barefoot for, anyway?”

“It’s either that or high heels,” She grumbled, then to distract herself. “What's the Hilltop?”

“Another community,” He answered tersely. “Their leaders a dumbass, but the people are alright.”

She grimaced. “Our people are at Alexandria though?”

“Mhm.”

“Is it safe?” She questioned softly. “Are they safe?”

She could hear the way he was gritting his teeth, “They were.”

Mindful of where she stepped, Beth worried her lip. There was a tightness in her lower back, a strange mix of numbed pain that travelled down through her hips and to the tips of her toes. She figured it to be the effects of the jarring ride and pushed on.

“I'm so sorry, Daryl,” She finally said, her voice tenuous at best. “I didn't know. I mean I knew, but I didn't.”

“You didn't know he was a goddamn psychopath?” Daryl spat harshly.

Beth winced as much at his tone as she did from the pain. They fell in to silence again, the only sound the snapping of twigs under foot and the occasional rustle of leaves.

Suddenly, the crackle of static from the radio in her shirt pocket broke the quiet. Beth froze, her heart racing as the all too familiar drawl cut through the air.

“Does anyone have eyes on my dear, sweet, wife? The fat one. You know the one. About five-five, blonde hair, blue eyes, carrying my fucking progeny. I assume she'll be somewhere near the kitchen.”

“Haven't seen her,” Someone answered over the radio.

“Motherfucker. Turn my back for two goddamn seconds. When I find her I'm going to put a fucking bell on her like the sweet little pussy that she is.”

Beth swallowed hard, her breath coming in shaky pants. Daryl met her eyes, his jaw tight, his lips thin.

“I did what I had to do,” She rasped finally. “I knew. I knew about the baby when he gave me a choice: play at being his wife or work for points. I'm sorry, Daryl. I am. But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn't know if I was ever going to be able to find my way back. Not on my own.”

“He thinks it's his kid?” His growl was low; menacing.

“He assumed I was a virgin. I didn't tell him otherwise.”

Daryl's nose flared. He took a staggered step back, like a caged animal.

He reeled on her. “And you know? You’re certain?”

“Yes,” She whimpered. “I knew. I knew when I was in that goddamn cell. Knowing was the only thing that kept me…” She let out a sob.

“I thought it was you. On the road. When I got there I thought… I thought you had gotten through the front somehow and beaten me there. When it wasn't… Daryl, I never… I could hear you. I heard you yelling and then I couldn't anymore. I tried, I really did. They tied my hands, I couldn't pop the lock. I wanted to so bad. I heard you screaming my name.”

He grabbed her roughly, crushing her to his chest. His fingers snarled in her hair, he held to her for dear life, like if he let go she might slip away again. He kissed her hair, her ears, her tear stained cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” His voice was thick again, dark with emotion. “I'm so damn sorry, Beth.”

She cried, hard racking sobs. His shirt balled in her fists she muffled her mouth against his chest, letting the tears she hadn't cried in the last six months come now. Her body shaking, she let it all out and he let her, until she was hiccuping and drained.

“They haven't found Fat Joey,” She sniffed, swiping her eyes with the excess sleeve of her flannel. “It won't be long though. We should go.”

“Mhm,” He agreed, running a rough thumb over her cheek. “You should take the boots. It’ll be quicker.”

“I'm alright,” She promised. She took a step as though to prove it and then let out a strangled cry. Her leg gave out, sending brilliant pin pricks of light flashing behind her eyes.

Daryl had her before she could ever touch the ground. “You alright? ‘S the baby?”

“I don't know,” She gasped. “It hurts. Oh my God, it hurts.”

He scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other her head. 

“I got you,” He gritted. “I got you.”

Believing him, she clung to his neck for dear life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to adapt the the scene as best as I could for the flashback. Hope you enjoyed!


	16. All The Shits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Through the woods....

She was not in labor. She couldn't be. He didn't think so, anyway. Not that he knew shit about pregnancy or birthing babies. He'd learn though. He'd learn every goddamn thing there was about it as long as the kid stayed put for a while.

He'd never thought much about kids before. Not kids of his own anyway. It's not that he minded them or anything, he just didn't think he wanted to be a daddy. Merle might have had a couple of bastards running around somewhere but he never had nothing to do with them. They had probably been better off for it but Daryl at least had the sense to know he wanted nothing to do with that himself. He knew enough to know that he didn't want to be a shit parent like his abusive old man and neglectful mother. He didn't want to do to a kid what had been done to him. He didn't think about being a parent because he didn't think he was capable of being a halfway decent one and that wouldn't have been fair to a kid. But now he had only just found out about this baby and already keeping it and it's mother safe was the most important thing. It was the only thing.

His back hurt, his feet ached, and his arms were on fire but he stopped for nothing. Even when Beth tried to insist that he needed to. Even when his lungs wanted to explode and his legs began to feel like leaden weights. He was getting her to the goddamn Hilltop. Come hell or high water, he was not going to let anything bad happen. Not now. Not again. He wouldn't lose her. Them. He had run all night before, until he reached the fork in the road and the point of collapse. He could carry her four stupid miles.

“Daryl,” Beth sounded tired; weak. “Daryl, please, you can't.”

“No,” He gave a snappish growl. “We’re almost there. They got a doctor too - the kind that takes care of pregnant ladies. He’ll help you like he helped… others.” 

He had stopped himself before he could mention Maggie and her baby. He'd tell her someday, about how Maggie and Glenn had been expecting a baby and how happy they had been. He'd tell her how it had been his fault; how he had killed Glenn and Maggie had died of a broken heart. He'd tell her, but not today. Not when she already felt like a piece of cold glass ready to shatter. He'd tell her when he could think of a way how to tell her without it destroying her.

She whimpered slightly when he shifted her weight in his arms despite the fact that he was trying not to jostle her overmuch and he cursed himself for being too rough. 

She was so damn fragile. He'd always felt that way. She was so gentle and he was damn reckless. He never did understand what she saw in him. One day he’d break her for sure and she'd probably just smile and thank him for it.

“Daryl?”

With her head nestled against his collar bone, he hummed in response.

“Thank you.”

He scowled. This was exactly what he meant about her. It was typical of Beth to thank a man when he didn't deserve it.

“Don't,” He grumbled. “I should’a been there.”

“You were,” She murmured. 

The sky was lightening with the break of day. Midnight black to a dark navy and then softer still to cobalt with wisps of purple and pink brushed across the horizon. Birds chirped, greeting the new day, indifferent to the clusterfuck that was now the world. It was the kind of morning he was used to, even before. It was the perfect time to hunt, when the air was cool and the woods quiet. But he had no time for that now.

They came to the edge of the trees and forever cautious, he stopped. The road was clear of both the dead and the living, and Daryl exhaled a sharp breath of relief. In the distance he could just make out the fenced perimeter of The Hilltop and the shadowed figures of their guards over the gate. They had made it. Another fifty yards and they'd be there. Too bad it was all uphill.

He adjusted her weight in his arms and gritted his teeth. There was no sense in standing around waiting.

“I can walk,” Beth insisted.

“Not happening,” He graveled. “I can manage.”

She made a sort of soft snort and tried to smile at him. 

“What?” He grunted, wishing he didn't sound like such a bad-tempered prick.

“I was just thinking about the funeral home and how you wouldn't let me walk then neither,” She said.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted in a slight smirk. “You and your damn ankle.”

“I was fine.”

“Up until we found that house you was whining about me going too fast. Then you was whining I wouldn't let you walk. Couldn't make up yer damn mind what’chu wanted.”

“I think you just like carrying me,” Her teasing was light but her face was tight with pain.

Daryl snorted. “Don't count on it. You're still heavier than you look, Greene.”

She gave her best smile, her teeth coming over her bottom lip as she played at being coy. 

“Daryl?” She whispered softly.

“Hmm?”

She waited a beat; her head nestled in the crook of his neck like the way she used to do before, and she sighed.

“I missed you.”

His lungs filled with a deep breath, the smell of her clean hair and warm body thick in his nose. There was a sudden lump in his throat and he tried to swallow it down.

“I missed you too.”

Beth sighed again, her breath warm on his collar and she kissed his neck. Not sexual or anything, but just because she could. Daryl’s cheek twitched. He touched his chin to the top of her head. 

Shit was bad, real bad; probably the worst it had ever been, but he had found Beth. As long as he focused on that, the rest didn't seem so shitty.

As soon as he realized the shit wasn't so shitty, it got shittier.

“Don’t move, asshole.”

The metal against the base of his skull wasn't cold but the shiver that went down his spine was. The feeling was all too familiar.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love all the feedback on this!


	17. Through the Woods and to The Hilltop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Beth finally reach The Hilltop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter. It drew out a lot longer than I anticipated but I guess it makes up for the last chapter being so short. Enjoy!

“I said don't move, asshole,” The voice from behind barked.

“I heard you,” Daryl snarled, and aside from holding Beth tighter against his chest he was doing exactly what the prick said. Other than her strained breathing, Beth remained still too.

“Where’s your friends, huh? Where's the rest of them?” The douchebag demanded.

“Ain't no one else,” Daryl rasped. “Look man, she’s pregnant. She needs the damn doctor, a’ight?”

Behind him there was a shuffling of feet and Daryl watched from the corner of his eye as the assholes shadow came over his shoulder. Rick’s colt was tucked safely in the waist of his jeans. He was thinking over his chances of disarming this guy without putting Beth in danger.

He decided to try reasoning first.

“We’re from Alexandria,” He said.

“Uh huh.”

There was the metallic click of the gun cocking. That was when the situation moved past shitty and straight in to a shit storm.

Beth let out a pained yelp like a dog kicked when Daryl dropped her feet roughly to the ground. Wheeling around, he shoved her behind him and found himself staring down the barrel of a 44 magnum. His eyes narrowed to slits, he pulled the Colt Python from the waist of jeans as their incoherent shouts destroyed the stillness of the early morning.

“Daryl!” Beth cried, her trembling hand on his bicep.

“The hells the matter with you, boy, huh?” He growled, Rick’s gun aimed between the punk’s eyes. “Ain't got time for no games.”

“Whoa! Hold up! Don't shoot!” The familiar voice came from somewhere over Daryl’s shoulder, followed by a shouted order of, “Open the gate.”

Not willing to take his attention off the douchebag with the gun, he cocked a wary eye towards the sound of the heavy wooden gate creaking open. With his lank brown hair and prophetic blue eyes, Jesus came rushing down the slope, his hands up, palms out in a show of peace.

“Put it away, Clint,” He calmly suggested.

Leave it to Jesus to bring patience and diplomacy to a gun fight.

A growl rolled low in the back of Daryl’s throat as douchebag Clint lowered his weapon. Having had one too many guns waved in his face lately, Daryl wasn’t at first as willing, but then Beth gave his arm another squeeze and he remembered where he was. He shoved the Colt back in the waist of his pants, turned around, and scooped her up again.

“Where’s the damn doctor?” He gritted, already heading towards the open gate.

The ever chill Jesus raised a brow at him. Daryl didn't have time for his bullshit or his thoughtful looks. He liked the guy and all, but if he got in the way of him getting Beth to the doctor he'd punch him square in his holy face.

“C’mon!” He shouted when Jesus didn't move. “Ain't got all day.”

His beautiful, sweet, girl looked like shit. Her face was pale and her delicate brow wrinkled. Her eyes were shut tight now and whimper came from her gentle lips. He moved faster.

“It’s a’ight, hon,” He soothed softly, his lips turned to her ear only. “I got’cha. Ain't go’n let nothing happen.”

“What's wrong with her?” Jesus asked, falling in stride beside him.

“I look like a goddamn doctor to you? How the hell should I know?” He growled, and then with his own brow furrowed in something like worry. “She's pregnant.”

Jesus’s eyes fell to the basketball cradled under her nightgown. “Daryl, where did she come from? Did you… Did you take her from The Saviors?”

“Does it matter?” He snapped, making Beth wince. He muttered a gentle apology to her under his breath before returning to the man at his side. “We got out together. Knew her from before; back in Georgia. She's Maggie’s sister.”

Jesus’s eyes went a little wide. “Maggie’s sister?”

“Mhm,” Daryl rumbled in response. “Now where’s the doc?”

Jesus ran ahead to the medical trailer. Pounding first on the door with a closed fist, he motioned for Daryl to hurry like he wasn't already going as fast as he fucking could without rattling Beth around.

Harlan Carson opened the door, blurry eyed and haggard as all get out. Hell, now days it was hard to find anyone who didn't look tore up, but the doctor was good people. He had set Maggie up with the vitamins for pregnant ladies when she had needed them and had given her that sonogram of her baby too. Told her to come by whenever she needed anything. Daryl knew he’d take care of Beth the same way.

“Lay her down on the table right there,” The doc instructed, pointing to his old exam table as he grabbed his stethoscope. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Said it's her back. Hurts bad clear down to her feet so that she can't even walk,” Daryl explained as he unwound Beth's arms from around his neck. For as heavy as she was, and she was damn heavy after all that, she looked small on the exam table. Even though they ached, his arms missed her already.

“Alright,” Carson said neutrally. “What's your name, miss?”

Beth let out a harsh hiss so Daryl answered for her.

“Beth. Beth Greene. ‘S she goin’ to be okay? Is it the baby?” Daryl needed to know.

“We’ll see. From what you told me though, it's doubtful that the baby is in any danger,” the respectable doc told him. “Why don't you have a seat, Daryl. You're looking a little rough yourself.”

That wasn't about to happen. He wasn't leaving her side.

“Daryl?” Beth whimpered.

She reached for him with bird boned fingers and he took her hand. She was breaking his damn heart with this.

“I'm here. I ain't leavin’,” He rumbled. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He bent over her, kissed her forehead, swept the hair from her face. Goddamn, she really was breaking his heart.

The doc was feeling up Beth’s stomach through the thin cotton of her nightgown while Daryl eyed him with hostile suspicion. He knew it was his job and all but he didn't like seeing another mans hands on her. He also wasn't against beating the ever loving hell out of him if he caused his girl any more pain.

Carson ran his trained hands along the curve of her stomach, sliding them down to her hips. Beth let out a surprised gasp, her sparkling blue eyes flying open.

“Oh!”

“What? What is it?” Daryl barked. She was digging her nails in to the backside of his hand. Hurt like hell, but he didn't give a damn. “The hell did you do to her?”

“Right there?” Carson asked, ignoring him while working his hands over her right side. “Is that where it hurts?”

“Yesssss!” She hissed.

The doctor made an agreeable sound. He glanced up at Daryl who was shooting deadly arrows at him with his eyes.

“It's alright,” The good doc assured. “It looks like Beth may have a case sciatica.”

Daryl growled. He was convinced doctors made up half their dumbass words just to make people like him feel stupid.

“English?” He snarled.

“There's a large nerve in the lower back called the sciatic. It's runs down the buttock through the legs. It's common, especially in pregnancy, for women to suffer pain along that nerve,” Carson explained. “What were you doing before it started?”

“Motorcycle,” Beth answered with a groan as the doctor guided her on to her side.

His brows wiggled in surprise. He looked to Daryl who only glared. “You were on a motorcycle?”

“Uh huh,” Beth replied. Her face puckered as Carson began massaging.

Daryl was stroking her hair like she was some sort of pet or something, not even aware he was doing it. He was worried he had caused this; that somehow in their escape on the bike he had broken her frail little body.

“She gunna be a’ight?”

“Yes.” Carson was smiling again. Goddamn happy bastard.

He was kneading the muscle of her lower back, right above the flare of her hips. After a while Beth stopped whimpering. Her eyes were shut tight and her brow wrinkled. Daryl realized where he had seen her make that face before. Now he really did hate the doctor for having his goddamn hands on her.

“Sciatica is painful, but nothing to be worried about. I can give you some mild pain relievers and there's some stretches I can show you that’ll help,” Carson offered helpfully and then to Daryl. “If you want, I can even show you how to do this kind of massage for your er, friend.”

Well bless his fucking heart.

Chewing his chapped lip, Daryl nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

The doctor smiled again, looking like he knew shit.

“Do you know about how far along you are?”

 _Six months, two weeks, and three days._   
At least that's how long it had been since she’d been stolen from him. He knew because he wore a goddamn tick mark for each day on his heart.

“Seven months,” Beth answered softly.

Carson gave another smile. “Almost to the home stretch then. Would you like to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

That's when Beth’s face lit up like Christmas. Any hurt that remained disappeared from her eyes as she bit her lip and looked up expectantly at Daryl, who suddenly had a goddamn bundle of nerves in his stomach.

“You can do that?” He asked Carson.

“It takes less than a minute,” The doctor promised.

Before he could say another damn word the door to the trailer flew open. Daryl had one hand on the gun in his pants as he put himself between Beth and the door. Then his eyes went wide.

For the second time in just as many days he was seeing a ghost. Except he wasn't because just like Beth she was real. Maggie Rhee wasn't dead. She was alive and standing in the doorway, her eyes shining with tears and her hands trembling at her mouth.

“Beth?” She managed to choke out. “Oh my god, Beth!”

“Maggie? Maggie!” Beth cried.

She was struggling to sit upright on the table and Daryl gave her a hand. Maggie was across the room in four quick steps and the sisters fell over each other. They were laughing/crying as big sister Maggie held little sister Beth’s flushed face in her hands, shaking her head in disbelief.

“How? I thought… I thought you were gone,” Maggie sobbed, then looked to her kid sisters bulging stomach. “Oh Bethy, look at you. Are you alright? Jesus said…”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. Who’s… did you say, Jesus?” Beth was looking more than confused.

It dawned on Daryl then and there that he hadn't had the chance to make any introductions. He didn't even think he had told her the doctors name.

There was too much going on and Maggie missed the question. Her arms still around her younger sister, she looked at Daryl for the first time. He had to force himself to meet her red rimmed eyes. She nodded in acknowledgement and he did the same.

“She was with The Saviors… with… with him?” She couldn't bring herself to say the name and he couldn't blame her.

His jaw was so tight that it ached. He nodded and then took a slow and deliberate breath. Facing Glenn’s widow and Beth's sister had him feeling all sorts of ways that he wasn't ready to process just yet. Not after the night they had just had.

“But I'm here now,” Beth reminded sweetly. She wiped the tears from her own eyes and then Maggie’s too. “I'm here.”

“Yes you are,” Maggie sniffed before hugging her sister all over again. She looked to Daryl, her chin dimpling. “Thank you,” She mouthed the words.

“We were just about to listen to the baby’s heartbeat, Maggie, if you cared to join,” Doctor Carson offered.

“Oh! Uh, okay,” She pressed her palms to her eyes, tried a smile. “Yes. Thank you. Daryl, why don't you go find Jesus and get something to eat. I can take care of Bethy from here.”

Beth bit her lip. From over her sisters shoulder she met his eyes. No words, just a look.

“No,” He graveled, folding his arms across his chest. “I'm staying.”

“You sure, Daryl? You don't have to -.”

“It's my kid.”

He didn't bother sugar coating it. Blunt and to the goddamn point, Maggie’s eyes went wide in shock.

“Oh,” She whispered softly after a moment. She looked from Beth to Daryl and back again.

“I um,” She rolled her lips together, licked them. “Okay then.”

 


	18. Maggie Rhee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie works through her thoughts and feelings surrounding the discovery of Beth and Daryl's relationship as well as confronts Daryl about the baby.

It was a good day. She had her sister back.

It was also strange. Strange because the sister she had thought she had lost at the prison was not the same one returned to her now. The sweet little girl who had thrown Maggie’s birth control in the duck pond because she believed boys and sex to be bad, was gone. Beth was different now. She had been through things; things that even after being told Maggie couldn't quite comprehend. Being kept against her will inside the walls of Negan’s compound, a pregnancy, a forced marriage (and it was forced no matter what Beth said to the contrary) to that sociopathic monster; it had changed her. There was an unfamiliar darkness to her eyes as though she had seen things that she couldn't unsee. Even when she smiled you could tell she was somewhere else; somewhere distant and unreachable to those around her. It had Maggie wondering (and dreading) at just what the sweet little girl wasn't sharing.

The thought of what that… that man… had done to her sweet innocent Beth. The things that she wouldn't say. The fact that he had considered himself her husband; a husband with rights; rights to her body. She was pregnant, there was no denying that; together they had listened to the quick whoomp-whoomp-whoomp of the heartbeat. As sweet as the sound was it filled Maggie with rage because it meant that even before Negan had destroyed their lives, he had destroyed Beth’s.

Then there was Daryl, claiming the child as his own. Daryl who was twice her age. Hell, he could have been Beth’s father. She knew that they had gotten out of the prison together. She knew that they had been on their own. He had taken losing Beth hard but she had always assumed that it was just his guilt getting the better of him. He had felt responsible for Beth; she lacked in the skills it took to make it on her own in the cold cruel world, but never would Maggie had suspected that there had been anything more than mutual survival between them.

She had begged him for the details of Beth’s final days and all he had said was that Beth had remained Beth. That after the prison she had been optimistic and strong. He never once mentioned anything about there being something between them. Never even hinted at it. Besides the times that she had practically bullied it out of him, he did not talk about Beth. He wouldn't even say her name. So how could it be that they had ever been… lovers?

She watched them; the quiet way they communicated, the way they moved around each other. He gave the reunited sisters time and space to be together but remained close. He made sure Beth didn't need anything, was on the ready every time she moved. When Enid prepared them all dinner Daryl didn't even touch his plate until he was sure Beth had had her fill. Maggie watched the way Daryl watched her sister and still she wondered how there could be anything more than a brother like affection?

There couldn't be. 

She was overjoyed to have him back. When Negan had taken him from the group, all shot up and bloody, it had been like he too had been killed. She loved him like a brother - Glenn had loved him like a brother - and she honestly hadn't expected to ever see him alive again. But now he was here and there was this thing with Beth and she wasn't sure exactly how to feel about that.

She curled around Beth, the big spoon in a little bed. It reminded her of when they were kids and Beth would sneak in to her room in the middle of the night. She hated the dark but daddy and Annette refused to let her sleep in their bed. She was getting too big they told her, but Maggie always let her. They would hide under the covers together tucked in close and even though she wasn't afraid of the dark or nighttime noises Maggie always liked having her there. She liked feeling like Bethy belonged to her, like now; under the covers in borrowed clothes with her blonde hair plaited and her breath even in sleep, Beth was her precious baby sister once more.

Her baby sister who was having a baby of her own. Possibly Negan’s bastard spawn.

Maggie slipped quietly from the bed. Enid was at the table with her knife and the whetting stone while Sasha was on the couch with a pad and pen and Jesus took up the chair in the corner. They were a full house for sure, but in these times a full house was a comfort.

The door to the trailer was open to the cool evening air. The faint smell of cigarettes wafted in on a breeze letting her know that Daryl was outside.

He was sitting on a table, a cigarette glowing between his lips and the pilfered long range radio beside him. He jumped as soon as he heard her coming, pitching his cigarette in the dirt and snatching up the crackling radio. When he saw that it was only her, he looked sheepishly at the ground. She got the distinct impression that he had been avoiding her.

“Can we talk?” She asked bluntly.

His mouth was grim, his eyes unwilling to meet hers. He mumbled a response.

“You brought my sister back to me.”

He shifted uncomfortably, his response mumbled in that guttural manner of speech of his, “Beth’s here cause of Beth. She got us out.”

“You got her here. You kept her safe.”

He looked up at her, his gunmetal eyes narrowed in skepticism masked behind greasy hair.

“Is that what you're doing with claiming this child? Are you trying to keep Beth safe?”

His eyes dropped again. He couldn't even look at her.

“Are you the father of that baby?"

“The hell you doing, Maggie, huh?” His voice sounded like sandpaper and anguish. “What do you want from me?”

“You never even talked about her,” If it sounded accusatory she hadn't meant for it to. Not exactly anyway. “Not a word!”

“I didn't know how!” He shouted back. His chest puffed, he took one hard look at her and instantly wilted.

“She’s your baby sister.”

“You should have told me.”

“I wanted to. Hell, I almost did,” He was mumbling to his boots. “I'd think how she was gone - how I let it happen. That's on me. What happened to her - to Glenn - it's on me. Everything that son of a bitch done - I did that.”

She was looking at a shattered man. Beaten and broken and vulnerable. Like a shy dog, twice whipped, he could not/would not look her in the eye and she finally understood why.

Guilt.

“Would you look at me, please?” She pleaded gently as he tried in earnest to give her what she wanted. “Daryl…”

“I'm sorry,” He sniffed. “I'm sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

His voice broke, “It was.”

“No. It wasn't. You're one of the good things in this world. That's what Glenn thought. And he would know because he was one of the good things too.”

“I loved her, Maggie. I couldn't say nothin’ to you cause I knew how it would look, but when we were together, just the two of us,” His chin weak, he worried his lip. His eyes dropped as well as his voice, “I love her and I can't stop. I know cause I've tried. She is the good in this world and everything he did to her - I let it happen.”

Maggie could feel the tears threatening in her eyes, mirroring his own. Just when she thought she had run out, she found more to cry.

“Is the baby -?”

“It don’t matter,” He cut her off before she could infer any more. His eyes closed, when he opened them again he was looking directly at her. “As long as it’s Beth’s, that baby’s name is Dixon.”

Maggie’s lips parted. If there were words she couldn't find them, and by the time she could it was too late.

“Maggie!”Jesus was calling from the trailer, his voice sharp with worry. “Come quick!”

Beth was upright in the bed, her hair mussed and her eyes shining as Sasha and Enid tried in vain to offer comfort for a nightmare. Maggie rushed to her; took her trembling shoulders between her hands as she crooned her name, “Bethy. Oh Bethy.”

“Don't!” The poor girl choked, pushing away from her older sister. “Don't call me that.”

Maggie looked at her in surprise. She didn't understand. She had always called her Bethy. Why should now be any different?

“I'm sorry, Beth, I didn't -.”

“Leave me alone!”

She might as well have slapped her. In hindsight it might have hurt less. Silence echoed in the small trailer as Maggie looked behind her for some form of support. She found it. Daryl Dixon, half feral and all hick, crossed the room and took the visibly shaken woman who was no longer a child, in his arms. Beth didn't try to fight him as he forced her face to his neck, muttering guttural comforts in to her hair.

“‘S a’ight. Ain't nothing gunna get you, so long as I'm around. I got’chu. I got’chu both.”

Her vision obscured with tears, Maggie covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Daryl’s own hand, nails chewed and skin rough with calluses, was gently rubbing Beth’s taut stomach through her shirt.

He literally had them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not ignore the scene where Daryl cries while apologizing to Maggie for Glenn's death. I hope I did it justice as I spliced it in to this head canon.


	19. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another glimpse inside Daryl and Beth's relationship and some familiar faces show up at The Hilltop.

They had gotten one night. One stupid, perfect, night. In a bedroom at the top of the stairs of the funeral home in a real bed with sheets that only smelled a little musty. The place had been looked after; not a speck of dust to be found and candles already set out. If he let himself forget for a minute where they were and why, it actually felt like they could belong there. It had been goddamn perfect.

Daryl sat on the side of the bed while Beth undressed slowly, layer by layer, starting with her boots. Not a strip tease or nothing like that. Just a woman undressing for bed, not caring that he watched. His woman. It was sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

She stood naked for a minute, skin milky and pale in the soft candlelight, her arms limp at her sides. Then she started to fidget, chewing on her lip and messing with her hair. He knew she wanted to cover up. She must have felt exposed like that. How long had it been now? A few weeks? More? He'd had her ten different ways from Sunday but he'd never gotten to look at her. Really look at her. Completely bare and without the risk of imminent threat. There was always risk, he reminded himself. There was always something looming; but in the bedroom of the funeral home with a dozen candles and Beth looking that way it was easy to forget.

“Daryl?” She murmured. She was looking at her toes, not even meeting his eye.

“Mhm.”

Her lashes fluttered, her eyes looking heavy lidded like they had when she was drunk on the ‘shine. “Do you think I'm pretty?”

“Naw,” He drawled, quite seriously. “You ain't pretty at all.”

Her forehead wrinkled. She looked ready to pout like some little girl and he couldn't help but smirk. 

“You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, Beth. You ain't pretty. You're fucking gorgeous.”

She let out a shaking breath, those baby blue eyes glittering. “Oh.”

He reached for her then, took her by the hand. Pulled her so that she stood between his knees. Her thighs were soft and smooth like rich velvet, and he grabbed her with course unworthy hands. She was fucking perfection and he was pawing at her like some sort of horny roughneck.

She straddled him. Her knees on the bed, he held her weight on his thighs, his cock already straining against the zipper of his pants. Her sweet little breasts pressed hard against him, she slid her hands underneath his vest, pushed it off his shoulders while kissing him long and deep.

He didn't deserve her.

“I love you,” She whispered soft and sweet against his mouth. His face between her hands, her brow against his, she kissed him again. “I love you, Daryl Dixon. I always will.”

He didn't know what to say. Never been in a place to say it before. Didn't know how to say it now. Not to her. Not when he felt so undeserving.

So he lay her down on the bed, her hair spread all around like some kind of golden glowing halo. He took his clothes off nice and slow; bared himself for her like he wasn't a scared little bitch. 

He didn't fuck her. This wasn't like before in the shack. They weren't out in the woods rutting like animals in the dirt either. There weren't leaves in her hair and he didn't have rocks digging in his knees. They were in a real bed in a real house and so he made love to her good and proper. Slow, like they used to do in movies. Not the dirty ones like Merle liked, but the ones girls always wanted guys to take them to see - chick flicks.

She had cried out his name; her head back and her mouth open, she chanted it over and over like an oath. Like a vow. She made his name in to a goddamn promise; a promise he knew she meant to keep forever.

They slept naked that night. Pressed together their skin sticking in spots, her ass against his dick, her heart beating beneath his palm. At some point he woke up; his arm asleep, his shoulder aching, confused about where they were. His half hard cock pressed in to her fleshy backside reminded him and she murmured dreamily when he moved against her. He had her again that way, half asleep and from behind; rocking slowly, finding their rhythm, their hearts drumming in time.

It had been so goddamn perfect.

Daryl woke up on the floor beside the bed. Not their bed - not the one in the funeral home where he'd made love to her and held her all night - but Maggie’s bed. Technically it was Jesus’s bed but who the hell even knew where that guy slept anymore. Beth and Maggie had shared the narrow bed while Sasha slept on the couch and Enid curled up in the chair like some kind of forgotten house cat. Everyone was up now except him. Sasha and Maggie were already gone and Enid was taking care of the breakfast dishes while Beth… God, she was gorgeous sitting on the side of the bed putting on the pair of boots Jesus has found for her. 

She looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers and gave a shy little smile. It wasn't the right kind though, not like she gave him before. Her whole face didn't light up with it. Her eyes didn't shine. She looked tired. Worn out. Not at all like herself.

He sat up, his back aching. Shit, he was getting too old for sleeping on the floor like that. 

“You a’ight?”

He watched her throat tighten with her swallow. She looked towards the table where the walky-talky sat silent. 

“They checked your cell and found Dave,” She told him. “They think you took me. He… Negan… they went to Alexandria in the middle of the night, looking.”

That had him up. He was on his feet, his head reeling with the possible dangers. “They kill anyone?”

“No,” Beth answered quietly. “It doesn't sound like it anyway.”

“Shit,” He graveled, taking a staggered step back. “Okay.”

“Daryl,” Beth started softly. “We got to do something. He's not going to stop looking. You don't know him the way I do.”

“Goddamn it, you think I need remindin’ or somethin’?” 

He hadn't meant to yell or even raise his voice. It wasn't her fault; none of it was and he knew he was being a prick again. The truth was he was scared. Scared for her, for their friends. Scared for the baby he'd only just found out about but already would do anything to protect. Scared they'd get hurt or wind up dead all cause of him and his stupid decisions. 

Enid turned from the counter, a rag in her hand looking like a goddamn whipped pup like always. Her and Beth exchanged a look. He wished she would just leave. She was only a couple years younger than Beth, yet to him she was still a kid. Not that kids got to really be kids anymore, but still he didn't like having her around reminding him of it, making him feel worse than he already did.

A growl rolled in his throat like he was some kind of animal. “I'm sorry, Beth. I'm sorry.”

She took a deep breath, nodded her pretty little head. “Me too.”

Before either of them could say any more Jesus came in looking like something was going on. That got Daryl's dander up, then he told them they had company. At first Daryl feared The Saviors. He tried to think quick of a way to get them out of there but then Jesus told them that they'd want to come see.

Rick was holding on to Maggie as they rounded the corner. His friend. His brother. Shit, he didn't think he'd ever been so happy to see someone - except Beth of course. Aside from Merle, Rick was the first to ever make him feel like he had a real family. He depended on him; trusted him. The hug, the brotherly love; knowing he was alive and that they were okay. He needed that. It made him feel like they might have a damn chance in all this. Daryl handed over the colt to its rightful owner, making shit good again. Rick nodded his appreciation and then he saw Beth.

“My God,” The sheriff drawled, a smile on his bearded face. “When Carl said he saw you there, I didn’t believe it.”

“When I saw him I had a hard time believing it myself,” Her laugh was a little strained but she hugged Rick tight, the way she might have if he had been her own father. “I'm so happy to see you. All of you.”

Beth hugged Michonne with tears in her eyes and then Carl. They introduced her to Rosita and Tara next. If she recognized Tara from the falling of the prison she made no mention of it. She was accepting and warm of the new members of their group, just like Daryl knew she would be. It was the way she was.

“The Saviors, they came in the night looking for you,” Rick explained. “Negan said you took something from him; something important. He mean Beth?”

Daryl chewed his lip. “Yup.”

“We need people. Weapons. They took our guns but we’ll find more. We’re going to fight,” Rick told them. “Maggie was right before. I didn't want to listen, I couldn't, but I'm ready now.”

Daryl nodded in agreement. They'd fight like they'd fought before. And they'd win. They’d kill every last one of the sumbitches. They had too. There was no other way.

They started walking up to the big brick house, united like they'd take on the whole damn world. He looked to Beth at his side feeling like she was where she belonged. He took her by the hand. She looked scared.

“It's goin’ to be okay,” He told her. “I promise.”

She nodded, never saying if she believed him or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooo sorry this chapter was so long in coming. I had to do some serious meditation on how things were going to play out. Also I have a kindergartener that started hybrid homeschool this month and I've been exhausted! I think things should move on from here though! ;-) 
> 
> As always, I thrive off the comments and kudos, and thank you for reading!  
> -K


	20. Outside of my Purview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where negotiations with Gregory happen and we find out Beth has a little bit of badass in her now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm borrowing dialogue from season 7 episode 9 when Rick and the gang try to convince Gregory not to be an useless lump. And though it's a little late in the game, y'all know these aren't my characters, right?

“Would we all be better off without The Saviors, yes or no?” Rick questioned, his frustration evident in the way he held himself.

“Yeah. Sure. Okay.” Came Gregory’s glib reply. Daryl had been right, the leader of The Hilltop was a dumbass.

Beth was observing silently from the back of the room. She was not part of this conversation and therefore went unnoticed at Daryl’s elbow, his irritation radiating off him like the heat from a wood burning stove, stifling and oppressive. She couldn't say she blamed him.

Michonne tapped her lithe fingers against Gregory’s desk, “So what will you do to fix the problem?”

“I didn't say we had a problem, you did. And what happens outside of my purview is outside of my purview,” He gave a dismissive wave of his hand much to the agitation of everyone in the room.

From what Beth gathered, Gregory wanted to have his cake and eat it too. He had asked for help in handling a situation with The Saviors but now that the threat wasn't to him directly he didn't want to return the favor. He wouldn’t get his hands dirty, even if it was for the greater good of all.

She flinched when Daryl kicked up off the wall, his voice thick with grit and annoyance. “What the hell, man? You either ****with us or you ain't. You're sittin’ over there talking out of both sides of your mouth.”

Gregory stood up slowly, fiddling with his shirt sleeve. “Well, I think I've made my position very clear. And I want to thank you all for _not_ being here today -.”

“You've never met him before, have you?” Beth interrupted, much to everyone's surprise. If she was being honest she had even startled herself with her bravado; and now Gregory was looking at her with an expression that told her he hadn't even seen her before she spoke up.

“No, you haven't,” She surmised. “Negan wouldn't bother wasting his time on a yellow bellied coward like you.”

The older man leveled her with an icy stare.  
“Pardon me sweetheart, but who are you?”

She came forward unafraid while Daryl tried to put himself in front of her. She adored him for how unwittingly protective he was and gave his bicep a squeeze to tell him so as she side stepped around him.

“I’m the one who is about to tell you how things are going to end if you sit idly by and do nothing,” Beth answered, her voice strangely calm and authoritative. “You think everything is fine now. You do as you’re told and give The Saviors what they want. But one day - maybe tomorrow, maybe next week - they're going to ask you for something you cannot give them and when you fail to deliver Negan is going to come knocking with Lucille. I just hope when that day comes you're wearing your shitting pants.”

Gregory’s cold metallic eyes went wide at her. “Excuse me?”

Her mouth twitched in a dry smile. As she leaned with spread fingers on the big oak desk, looking up at Gregory with amusement in her eyes, she gave a soft chuckle reminiscent of the one she had often heard Negan employ; the one that made her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Perhaps she had learned a thing or two in her time at The Sanctuary.

“You know, you're shitting pants. The pants you wear for when you’re planning to shit yourself. ‘Cause that's what you're going to be doing. When you're kneeling before him with Lucille aimed at your head, you're going to shit yourself.”

“Get out,” He hissed with another wave of his hand. “Now. Leave. Preferably out the back.”

“Okay.” Beth stood straight, looking over her shoulder to the people most important to her; to Maggie and Daryl, Carl and Rick, Michonne and Sasha. Even the others she had only just met. These people that she cared about, whose existence Negan threatened. Whether they realized it or not they were more at risk now than ever, and all because of her.

“Let me just make one thing clear before we go. You say anything about this meeting to The Saviors - anything at all that puts these people in jeopardy - and I will make sure you get an up close and personal introduction to Lucille.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you threatening me, young lady?”

She looked at him all wide eyed and innocent. “Yes.”

Gregory took a step back from his desk. He was assessing her, no doubt wondering who this pregnant girl with her blonde pony tail really was. She flashed him a cloying smile before following the others to the door.

“Walking ballsack,” Rosita grumbled as they left.

“I could knock that idiots teeth out,” Sasha said with a disgusted shake of her head.

In the foyer Daryl stopped Beth with a touch to the elbow. “What the hell was that, huh? All of a sudden you're talkin’ like him?”

She turned to looked at him. “You can’t honestly tell me you trust that guy.”

“Course not,” He bit out.

“Then what makes you think he won't go telling one of Negan’s men what was said in there the first chance he gets?” She asked plainly.

Daryl squinted at her, weighing her words; realizing she was right.

“It doesn't matter,” Rick spoke up from behind. “We’ll find people somewhere else. And with Maggie and Sasha and Jesus here, maybe -.”

“You don't need people,” Beth argued, hoping she could make them understand. “The numbers aren't the problem.”

“Beth, we can't fight without people,” Maggie told her gently, sounding every bit the patronizing big sister that Beth remembered.

“You’re not going to win a fight against them. I don't care how many people you have,” Beth’s voice rose a little, the tone slightly shrill. “If you want to beat The Saviors you have to get to Negan first, then the numbers won't matter.”

They were all staring at her now, making her feeling exposed. She had never spoken up before, never voiced her opinion. Hell, she had never really had one back in the day, but now she knew that she was right. When it came to Negan and The Saviors she was the resident expert.

It was Michonne, majestic and deadly, who broke the silence of the small room. “Okay Beth, how do we do that?”

She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. She wished she knew another way but she didn't. There was only one answer for her to give.

“Me. You use me.”

“No,” Daryl exploded before she or anyone else could even blink. “Hell, no! It ain't happening. You ain't goin’ back there. No way!”

“Daryl!” Beth pleaded, reaching for his hand.

He yanked away. “Forget it!”

“Listen to me!” She cried, going so far as to give a little stomp of her foot. “Just listen. I'm what he's after and he’s not going to give up looking. Now we have the walky-talky, we can track their movements like that, stay one step ahead of them, but it’s only going to get us so far. Eventually they will catch up to us. But they don't know that I know any of you. They have no reason to; I never talked about who I was with before in Georgia. They think Daryl took me as a hostage against my will and we can use that to our advantage. You can use me to draw Negan out.”

“Beth…” Maggie started, sounding unsure.

“No,” Daryl graveled like that was going to be the end of it.

Beth gave a sad shake of her head, willing him to at least try to understand.

“The Saviors bow to Negan. They do everything he says but only because they're afraid of him. If you control Negan, you can control The Saviors.”

Everyone was exchanging looks, wondering if she could be right. Was it possible that little Beth Greene knew what she was talking about, or had she just gone crazy?

“What you're saying, it makes sense.” Rick was clearly calculating; formulating some sort of plan while at the same time speaking to her in that fatherly tone of voice she had heard him use when Carl had been just a boy back when they had first come to the farm all those few years ago. “But it could be dangerous, not just to us but to you. Are you sure, Beth?”

“Negan won't hurt me,” She answered with as much confidence as she could manage. She ran her hands over the swell of her stomach, feeling the baby kick in response to her attention. “As long as he thinks I have the one thing he wants more than anything in this world, he won't let anything happen to me.”

A guttural growl rolled in his chest as Daryl stormed from the room. Beth blinked as the door slammed, wishing he would come back on his own; knowing that he wouldn't.

She looked at the faces around her, saw their hopes as well as their doubts. At the moment she could feel the weight of them on her shoulders and she ran for the door.

“Daryl!” She cried, chasing after his long determined strides. God only knew where he was going as he charged through the compound. “Daryl, stop!”

He reeled on her, jutted a finger at her chest, aimed directly at her heart. “It ain't happenin’, Greene. I won't let it!”

“It's the only way!” She told him. “Please.”

“I said no. You ain't goin’ to be nobody’s bait,” He snarled.

“Daryl,” She could feel her chin start to quiver; could see it in his steel blue eyes. “Please.”

“I ain’t goin’ to lose you again!” He raged just before his shoulders dropped.

His cheeks were warm and flushed as she took his face between her hands, pulling him down so that their foreheads pressed together. He clung to her wrists, holding her there, feeling her quick pulse beneath his fingertips.

“I can't,” His voice nearly broke as a single tear rolled down his sun-darkened face, landing on the pad of her thumb. “I can't go through that again.”

“You won't,” She whispered, kissing his lips for the first time since that fateful night, not caring that an audience had converged on the steps of the big house.

He melted in to her, his lips tasting the way she remembered in her dreams. This was a dream. His mouth malleable against hers, conforming to her kiss so that she no longer could tell where he ended and she began. It was heaven and it must have been for him too because when he finally broke away he did so with a pained groan.

“I love you,” His voice was hoarse and at first she thought she hadn't heard him right, but then he said it again. “I love you, Beth, and I ain't goin’ to let that son of a bitch anywhere near you or our child ever again.”

“I know,” She sniffed, nuzzling her nose against his. “That's what I'm counting on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos keep me going. :-)


	21. Bonnie Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of fluff.

She was dying. That was the only explanation for it. Her guts were trying to make a violent and torturous escape from her body. Death would be the only end. Like a victim of the Black Plague, she was going to hack up her most vital of organs and in her final moments think, ‘so thats what my esophagus looks like.’

She lay curled on the bed, a chipped porcelain pot hugged to her chest while the world pitched and swayed around her. The room reeked of sick and she wished someone would come and open the window. It was growing dark outside and she thought the evening air might feel good against her flushed skin.

Whoever called it morning sickness was a liar and frickin’ asshole.

Her eyes closed in an attempt to stop the spinning, she felt the bed dip beneath a new weight and she let out a whimpering groan. An unwelcome hand stroked her cheek. No, she thought, not wanting to be touched.

“You look like shit,” He commented, his voice like honeyed whiskey - sweet and smooth.

Go away, she wanted to tell him. Leave me alone.

“Here,” He told her, pressing something to her lips; a cool glass. “Drink.”

“No,” She muttered miserably, her eyes still closed.

“Don't be that way now,” He chastised. “You need to drink.”

He lifted her head up from the pillow, tilted it back, forced the water past her lips. Her whole body hurt and she was too tired to fight. She swallowed, somehow managing not to gag.

“Good girl,” He commended, lowering her back down. She curled tighter around herself, shrinking to her smallest possible form, hoping he’d leave her alone that way.

“I know this sucks for you,” His rich voice was gentle and soothing which was unnerving to her as he petted her hair. “You must feel like dog shit warmed over.”

Nice, she thought bitterly.

“Just think though,” He continued, his mouth hot on her temple as he pressed his lips there, his breath tickling her ear. “How worth it this is all going to be when we have our boy.”

Slowly, she opened listless eyes. The dark hair, the stubbled jaw; for a moment she saw the face she wanted to see, looming over her tight with concern. Then she blinked and he was gone, replaced with the man she had quickly grown to detest. Those brown eyes, that evil grin. 

She tried to suppress her shutter but she was too weak. Luckily he mistook her disgust for something else.

“You have pleased me, wife.” He pushed the sweat dampened hair out of her face. “You have no goddamn idea how much I appreciate what you are going through right now. When you give me my son -.”

“What if it's a girl?” She interrupted, her voice raw, not thinking first of what the repercussions of contradicting him might be. It was still early days; she still had a habit of forgetting herself. She had been so stupid.

A deep frown took up between his eyes. Negan let out a slow agitated breath.

“It won't be,” He drawled, tapping a finger against her nose. “And if it is… Well, we’ll just have try again until you get it right, now won't we?”

Beth woke with a shuddering gasp, her heart jackhammering in her chest. Daryl was sitting on the floor beside the bed watching her, his gunmetal eyes brilliant in the dark. She blinked. It was just a dream - a nightmare - and she let out a heavy breath.

“You a’ight?” He asked in a growly whisper.

She cast a look to Maggie asleep beside her. “Yeah.”

He watched her for a moment, eyes narrowed, not entirely believing. Looking over his shoulder to the sleeping forms of Sasha and Enid, he nodded towards the door. Without a word, she slipped from bed, following him on soft feet through the quiet trailer.

Once they were outside he handed her her boots. She knew most nights he slept in his. With a hand under her elbow, he steadied her as she stepped in to her shoes and when she was ready they started to walk.

It was just before dawn and the air was still cool. Not chilly or even crisp, but mild enough to make the warmth of his heavy arm welcomed when he draped it over her shoulders.

They ambled together like that, his arm over her shoulders and hers lightly around his waist. No destination. No place to go. Nearing the gate, Daryl gave a short nod to the men posted on guard duty there. Altering their direction, they started to walk the inner perimeter of the fence, neither one of them saying anything as they did so.

“It was bad,” He said after some time and distance had passed. “Wadn’t it?”

She rested her head against him, appreciating the methodic one-two-one-two rhythm of his step. She sighed, “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Hmm.” It was a neutral sound made in the back of his throat. Whether he really wanted to know what she had been dreaming about or not, he wouldn’t press her. It wasn't his style to pry and at the moment she loved him for it.

Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, the knot of dread started to loosen in her stomach. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

She could feel his answer rumble in his chest. No.

“What were you doing up?” She tried to keep her tone light, almost cheerful.

“Nothin’,” He sounded as though he was holding pebbles in his mouth.

She stopped walking a step or two before he did so that he had to turn back to face her. She quirked her brow, he looked at his feet.

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinkin’,” He answered.

She gave a sympathetic sigh. Of course he would have a lot on his mind; he had been through so much. She could only imagine that whatever personal hell she might have lived through with Negan, Daryl had suffered tenfold. He had been shot, forced to watch while his friends were beaten to death, had been taken prisoner and endured round the clock mental torture; and that was only the most recent of things he had been through. Beth had gotten Sasha to tell her about Terminus; how they had survived cannibals there, and his tireless search of Atlanta for her afterwards - how he had become like the undead himself for a while when he came up empty handed. She knew about the voyage to Virginia, the close calls and near misses; how they had finally found Alexandria and it's relative safety only to discover a entirely new set of trials to survive. She knew about those they had lost. She knew about the pain. Beth had had it so easy by comparison, and yet she knew… She knew him well enough to know that when he said he was thinking, it wasn't about any of that.

He looked up at her, his expression one of deep thought. “You ever sing to the baby?”

Her head cocked to the side, she couldn't help a little smile. “I thought my singing annoyed you,” She quipped gently.

Daryl squinted at her, his version of an eye roll. “You know it don't.”

Then he said, “I was thinkin’ ‘bout how they say that they can hear stuff in their mama’s womb. How they know what's goin’ on around them and how when the baby comes they’ll know your voice ‘cause they hear you talkin’ all the time but they ain't ever heard me before. I thought maybe, I dunno, I should talk to ‘em or somethin’ so they’ll know me. Maybe I'm being dumb.”

She watched him for a second, her heart swelling. This was exactly why she had fallen in love with Daryl Dixon in the first place; because behind that gruff voice and tough exterior he worried about things like his unborn child knowing him.

“I don't think you're being dumb,” She told him, lacing her fingers in his. “I think it's incredibly sweet, and I think she would like it.”

His eyes flashed up at her, his eyebrows raised. “She?”

Beth gave a bittersweet sort of smile.

“How d’ you know?”

She shrugged. “Doctor Carson - the one there, not the one here - he gave me an ultrasound about a month ago and could tell. Said it was pretty obvious.”

He eyes far off, he suddenly looked a little shellshocked. “I have a daughter.”

Beth worried, “Are you disappointed?”

“The hell would I be disappointed for?” 

Looking down at her belly sticking out between them, she shook her head, whispering, “He only wanted a boy.”

“I don't give a damn what he wanted,” Daryl groused. “She ain't his. She’s mine.”

He touched her, tentatively at first, like he was afraid it might hurt. His hands, the fingers rough with calluses and the nails bitten down and dirty, rasped over the soft cotton of her shirt. His brow wrinkled slightly as he watched his hand rub over the crest of her stomach, his thumb grazing just below the swell of her breasts. Beth felt the flutter, the gentle little kick that she sometimes stopped and waited for, and she watched as Daryl’s cheek rose in a smile.

“Hey,” His rough guttural drawl was somehow softer, gentler, and she remembered the way he used to talk to Judith - his Little Ass-Kicker. “Hey in there. Was that a kick or somethin’? You tryin’ to say, hi? What’chu doing awake? It's too early for you to be up.”

“We’re up,” Beth pointed out. 

“That don't matter. Just ‘cause we’re up don't mean she gotta be,” He was looking alternatively from Beth’s face to her stomach. He smiled when he felt the baby kick again and then his brow creased in a moment of uncertainty. “That don't hurt you, right?”

She smiled. “No.”

“Okay, good,” The smile was back and he dropped to his knees so that he spoke directly to her navel. “We don't want to be causin’ your mama too much grief already. She’s goin’ to be running after you plenty here soon ‘enough.”

“Is that so?” Beth asked with a curious brow.

“Course. She’s a Dixon. Ain't you, sweetheart?” He crooned. “Yeah you are. You hear me in there? This is your daddy. You're gunna be a little hellraiser, ain't you?”

Beth couldn't help but laugh at how sweet and absurd it was to have him talk to their baby this way, not to mention surreal. She had spent months dreaming about him and fantasizing about moments like this one, finally coming to accept that they might never come to pass. Yet here they were. He was here and it was real and she never wanted it to end. If she was dreaming, she never wanted to wake up.

“We should give her a name,” Daryl announced. “You come up with any yet?”

Beth shook her head. “No.”

“Hmm,” He rumbled, thinking. “It's should be something good.”

“I always liked Jessica,” She offered.

He made a face, “Naw. I ain't ever met a Jessica that wasn't a bitch.”

“Daryl!”

“It's true,” He countered. “‘Sides, it don't feel right.”

“Tiffany?”

“Hell naw.”

“Casey?”

He shook his head.

“Dang it Dixon, you come up with one than.”

He shook the hair from his eyes, his mouth pursed in concentration like he was trying to channel the baby in her womb. His expression serious, he seemed to mull things over for a minute, then a smile broke over his face. 

“Bonnie,” The baby kicked at the deep sound of his voice, like she was casting her vote.

“Bonnie?” Beth asked, trying the syllables on her tongue.

Daryl nodded, pleased. “Bonnie Blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait for the reactions to this one. :-)


	22. Negan.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A freeform chapter in Negan's POV.
> 
> **warning**  
> This is dark and there is liberal use of explicit language. It may be offensive to some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dark... and unexpected. I don't know where this came from. I didn't plan it. I went down the rabbit hole and this is what we got.
> 
> Also, its short.
> 
> A short look inside Negan's head. 
> 
> I don't think any of us could stand to stay there long.

What. The. Fuck. What the fuck? How in the name of fuck did this shit happen? How did a dip shit hick with a name like motherfucking _Daryl_ (because that just made too much fucking sense) just up and walk off with his wife? His goddamn _wife_! Not just any of his wives either. Oh no. He didn't take Amber or Pauline, which would have sucked considering how good the pussy was. But no. No, that asshole had to go and take the most important one. The only one that was actually worth a damn! The one carrying his son in her fucking belly!

He thought of Beth out there in the fucking woods, no shoes on her goddamn feet because the girl had no fucking sense. She was a pretty little thing and _fan-fucking-tastic_ in bed - all that trembling, sweet, naive fucking innocence - but that was about all she was good for. Alone with that dumb motherfucker, exposed to the elements and the fucking dead, she was as good as zombie food. She was already fucking pitiful as it was half the time, she didn't stand an ice cubes chance in hell without his protection. Why? Why the fuck did it have to be her? 

He knew she was as good as dead and it was too damn early for the baby. His _son_. Damn it. There was no way in hell his son would survive if he came now. Not a newborn. Not out there. Premature and without a doctor and his father to protect him. No way. No. He had to find them, before it was too late. Before he lost his last chance for good.

He was going to kill Daryl. Oh yes. Not just him either. No, he was kill everyone who mattered to him. He was going to kill them all. Every last fucking one of them. That prick Rick and the bitch he was fucking, the creepy fucking priest, the would-be serial killer, Carl. It didn't even matter that he liked the kid! He was going to kill every motherfucking man, woman and bastard child in Alexandria. He would hunt them down, line them up, and let Lucille get up close and fucking personal with every single last one of them, just as soon as they led him to his son and the king of all dicks, Daryl.

He was going to murder that motherfucker. MURDER. He was going to fucking brutalize him. Everything else up to this point would look like fucking child's play, just as soon as he had his son back safe. He was going to fucking desecrate that dumbass redneck hick.


	23. Claimed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we return to the moonshine shack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was asked if there would be smut. I don't feel like I do smut well, so this is what I came up with.
> 
> Some dialogue from Daryl and Beth's fight in the season 4 episode, Still.

“Daryl, just stop.”

She reached for him. She didn't know why, but she did. He might have been the last person on earth and he was hurting so she reached out to touch him. To comfort him in some way.

“No!” He slapped her hands away. Turned so she couldn't see anything but his broad back beneath the worn out wings and his bare, sun browned, arms.

“The Governor rolled right up to our gates,” His back heaving, his voice catching. “Maybe if I wouldn't have stopped looking. Maybe cause I gave up. That's on me.”

“Daryl,” She attempted to sooth.

“No.” He pulled away from her again, like he was afraid of her. Shrugged her off lest she cause him more pain.

Daryl Dixon was unbreakable or so he’d have you believe. He had taken a bullet and an arrow looking for Carol’s little girl. He went on supply runs and insured nobody went hungry; fought tooth and nail to protect their home. He blew up tanks! But that hitch in his voice. The suddenly visible chink in his tough guy armor. Daryl Dixon did not break. He did not break, until he did.

“Your dad,” His voice usually so gruff, quivered with the threat of tears. “Maybe… maybe I could have done something.”

She grabbed him hard and from behind, the sudden contact seeming to take him by surprise. The tears he had been fighting, the burdens he carried, it all came bubbling to the surface and she refused to let go even as he did. His breath stuttered beneath her cheek as she lay it against his shoulder blade. With her arms around his torso she locked hands with her wrists, squeezing him as tight as she possibly could; holding him together as his whole body tried to shake apart with short, hard, sobs.

She didn't know how long they stood like that - her holding him and him letting her. It could have been minutes or a handful of seconds, she didn't really know. The effects of the corn whiskey still had her head feeling hazy. Her eyes closed, she was vaguely aware that he was sagging against her. The weight of him forced her to stagger a step and his hand shot suddenly back. He grabbed her by the thigh, keeping her steady. Keeping her close.

“Daryl?” She said timidly.

“Don't,” He bit. “Just. Don’t.”

She nodded, her chin and cheek rasping over the course embroidered wings.

She had meant to keep quiet and let him be; to give him his moment without question or judgement. But maybe it was the moonshine or maybe the silence was just too much for her, because her mouth started moving and even she couldn't understand why.

“Never have I ever belonged to someone else.”

It was dumb. She was dumb. She didn't know why she said it like that when it wasn't at all what she meant. Of course she had belonged to someone. As a sister she had belonged to Shawn and Maggie just like she had belonged to her parents as a daughter. What she meant was she had never belonged to a _man_. Not in that way. She always had a reason not to - she was too young or not in love or saving herself for marriage. She had never let things go farther than kissing and awkward groping with Jimmy or Zach; something she regretted now if for no other reason than that it was just another experience lost to this new crappy world.

“I mean… that way. I've never… you know.”

Lord, why was she still talking? It was the moonshine. It had to be. How else could she explain confessing to Daryl Dixon that she was a virgin?

His chest expanded with a deep breath and he let out a heavy sigh. “S’pose you want me to take a drink now?”

“No.” She was glad he had his back to her so that he couldn't see her blush. “Maybe we shouldn't drink anymore.”

He made a sound like agreement deep in his chest. She could feel the rumble of it beneath her hands. She wondered if she should let go; if he wanted her to. Either way, she didn't.

“I ain't ever belonged to nobody and ain't nobody ever belonged to me ,” He said after another minute or so.

“Never?” She didn't know why it came out sounding hopeful.

He looked back over his shoulder at her, his eyes the stormiest of blue. Slowly, he shook his head. “Naw.”

She let go of her wrists, allowing her hands to slide over his taunt belly. His body stiffened and something like a growl rolled in his throat.

“I could belong to you,” She suggested sheepishly. “If you're right, if everyone we know is gone and we’re all that's left, I could belong to you and you could belong to me. We could belong to each other.”

He huffed out another sigh. With her chin in his shoulder blade she peeked up at the side of his face, the line of his jaw and the sharp cheekbones, unsure of how to read him. Casting a sideways look at her he met her eyes, causing her entire body to flush.

With a shuffle of feet he turned so that he faced her and all of a sudden she became aware of how big he was. She had been close to him before - had even hugged him - but somehow this was different. Daryl towered over her, making her feel small. Weak. Safe.

She likened it to jumping in to a pond on the first warm day of spring and not knowing how deep or cold the water might be. She took a deep breath and stretched up to his lips. He tasted of salt and moonshine and man. He went rigid and took hold of her by the elbows. He didn't push her away but he didn't kiss her back either. Her head spinning, she broke the seal of the kiss, their lips parting with a smack.

“Please,” She whimpered, her mouth just a breath away from his. “Please, Daryl. We still need people.”

He was staring at her, his expression dark and angry and knowing. She didn't know what to say or do next. She didn't know why she had said or done anything to begin with. All she knew was that she was scared and lonely and now Daryl Dixon - the one person she had left in the world - was looking at her like everything about her was wrong.

Then something snapped. His hands, which had remained at her elbows, moved up her arms where he grabbed her so forcefully that she let out a surprised gasp. Her mouth agape, he pulled her tight against him so that not an ounce of daylight passed between them. There was growl, animal-like and dangerous, and she wasn't sure who had made the sound. She could feel the thunderous beat of his heart or maybe it was her own, as he pressed his forehead against hers.

His mouth was like a wild fire - hot and engulfing - the flames spreading quickly from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. Like a real fire Daryl’s kiss sucked the air from her lungs, making it impossible for her to breathe. She didn't care though; she'd happily suffocate. The heat was delicious in a way she had never experienced and she hungered for more. The fire. His lips. Her need. All things she had never felt and yet suddenly craved.

He let go of her just long enough to grab his discarded crossbow from the ground where he had dropped it. He then snatched her up causing her to let out a surprised cry. With one sure arm around her waist he hoisted her up on his hip and she wrapped her legs around him. Her fingers snarling in his shaggy hair, her kiss-scorched lips returned greedily to his and he carried her as far as the dilapidated porch where he dropped to his knees and lay both her and his weapon down.

She felt no hesitation, just her own desperate desire mixed with her undeniable need. She needed his kiss. She needed to feel his burning hands on her virgin skin. She needed… she needed him. And he needed her as well. She could feel his need rubbing against her thigh. She wasn't completely naive, she had made out enough times to know what he wanted. Difference was, he was a man where everyone before him had been boys. Daryl knew what he was doing, and that made her feel safe so that when he started tugging on her belt, the leather strap whispering through her belt loops, she didn't panic. She didn't hesitate.

He started working his own belt, his face an unreadable mask. Her feet on the porch steps, Beth lay on her shoulder blades and raised her hips shimmying her jeans down her thighs. She wished she had on something pretty underneath. Maybe something a little sexy and lace instead of the dingy old used-to-be pink cotton panties she had on forever. Suddenly she found herself feeling embarrassed. To distract herself she started to tug on his shirt. He flinched at this and she realized that perhaps Daryl Dixon had parts about himself that embarrassed him too though what, she couldn't imagine. Either way, she let it go.

The wood of the porch floor was rough beneath her bare back as her shirt rode up and he yanked her jeans further down. His belt undone and his fly open she couldn't see anything except his clothed body between her spread knees and she thought maybe that was for the best. Maybe if she couldn't see what exactly made him a man then she wouldn't be as scared. He lay over her, one hand beside her head while the other ran roughly over her flushed skin. Her whole body was thrumming, the epicenter located somewhere between her navel and her innocence. His mouth was hot on her neck, his facial hair course, and her body possessed. She arched up against him, not even understanding what she was doing.

She heard him say her name. His voice, good God his voice, all gravel and molasses. In her ear saying her name his voice belonged just to her and it became the best sound ever.

“You sure ‘bout this? It ain't just the ‘shine talkin’?”

Her small breasts heaving and her heart pounding, she bit her lip wishing it was his; wanting, needing, to taste his kiss again. For once she wasn’t scared. She wasn't afraid and that alone was enough to embolden her. Yeah, she was sure. She was damn sure, and it had absolutely nothing to do with being buzzed on corn whiskey.

“Yes.” She swallowed, her voice pleading. “Please.”

He made an affirmative sound, one of his signature grunts, and his hand disappeared somewhere between them. She closed her eyes tight, her brow furrowing as she tried not to let her wild thoughts run away from her. She could feel him moving between her legs, the accidental rub of his knuckle against her thigh sending a jolt of electricity through her. Then he was there against her and her heart went erratic. She pulled in a breath as he paused at her entrance, the tip of him hotter than the fire that he had already ignited inside of her. Hotter than anything she ever imagined. And as she let out her breath he entered her, his fire searing her from the inside.

Her lips parted and her eyes shot open. Daryl crushed his mouth to hers, catching her mewling cry on his lips. He kissed her deep, focusing all of his attention on her mouth while he kept the rest of himself perfectly still, allowing her a chance to get used to the feeling of him clear up to the hilt inside of her. One hand braced beside her head, his fingers less than an inch from the crossbow. The other hand cupping her cheek, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip, pulling it down for him to suckle and nip at. Her eyes rolled and this time it was her pleasured moan that he tasted on his tongue.

The pain of losing her innocence wasn't exactly what she had expected. She could feel the foreign stretch and the strange new sensation of being full, but the pain wasn't as acute as she had feared it to be. She made a tentative movement, flexing her hips to the slightest degree, and she found it wasn't that bad.

“A’ight?” Daryl bit out, his sweat dampened brow resting heavily against hers, like he was exhausted from the strain of holding still.

“Yes.” She swallowed hard, nodding. “Yes.”

“Ain't go’n last long.” It sounded like an apology, one she couldn't begin to understand.

His hand moved from her cheek to her thigh and he pulled her leg up so that she wrapped it around him. He was moving now, each thrust of his hips eliciting a moan from somewhere deep inside of her. She grabbed him by the sides, her nails digging in to the tender flesh of the skin beneath his shirt. Having nothing to judge it by she didn't know how long exactly he was supposed to last, but when she looked up at him his eyes were closed and his jaw was tight like he was concentrating on something real hard. Then he made a slight choking sound and the hand that had been holding her leg in place dropped it. He pulled out, causing her to feel suddenly very empty and he growled as he shot his seed over the inside of her thigh.

He dropped down on the porch beside her, his arm thrown over his eyes. They were both breathing in heavy, uneven pants and Beth became quickly aware of how naked she was. She sat up, moving gingerly to collect her discarded jeans only to have Daryl snatch her by the wrist. She looked over her shoulder at him, their eyes holding for a minute, something new and different behind his dark lashes.

“Hold up,” He graveled.

Sitting up beside her, he pulled the bandana from his back pocket. Letting out a heavy breath, he parted her milky legs with a gentle touch. Her heart still pounding, her breath catching a little, she watched in bizarre fascination as he cleaned the sticky mess from between her thighs.

“Daryl?” She didn't know why she was whispering. It wasn't like there was anyone to hear them, except maybe the dead-dead walker still pinned to the tree not 20 feet away.

“Hmm.” It was such a guttural sound, half feral and all Dixon.

“Now we belong to each other. I'm yours and you're mine.”

Meeting her eyes again, he was chewing his lip. He gave a short nod, like he wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to feel about it. “Mhm.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She found it strange that she thought about that day now. Now when they were standing in a tight group discussing Negan and making plans. She had played that memory a million times in her head; had held that mental picture in her hands so many times that the edges had become worn and discolored. But now wasn't the time or the place.

Beth stood tucked between Maggie and Michonne while Rick went over one contingency after another. Daryl had his arms folded over his chest, his head down as he silently worked his lip. The light that had been in his eyes earlier that morning when he talked to the babe in her belly was gone, replaced by the same dark, shut off expression he had worn that day at the shack - the day they had drunk moonshine and claimed each other for their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate the feedback on this one.
> 
> Also, I was just notified that this wasn't smut because they don't both reach orgasm. lol oops.


	24. If I Promised You Forever, Would You Give Me Tonight?

“Tomorrow, first light.”

It was the way Rick said it, the somber tone paired with his serious expression, that made everything feel so final. Like this was it. Now that the plan was made there would be no going back for any of them. The wheels were already in motion and there would be no stopping until they reached their final destination. Negan.

Beth suppressed a shudder.

“You okay?”

While the rest of their group disbanded, breaking off in to smaller intimate conversations, Maggie was still at her elbow.

It amazed Beth how sure and confident her sister was. How while pregnant herself and recently widowed, she was still so sure of who she was and her role in the world. Maggie was poised even in the worst of times and Beth knew their daddy would be proud of the woman she had become.

Yet at the moment the plan and everyone’s safety weighed primarily on the weak trembling shoulders of the kid sister. Beth wished she had half of Maggie’s strength. Of Rick’s and Michonne’s. Daryl’s. It occurred to her that she was the wrong person to save them; that in a group of lions, she had always been the lamb and if she was being honest, she was scared. Not for herself, but for them.

Beth looked up at her big, brave sister with a timid smile. “Uh huh.”

Maggie’s lips puckered in a knowing way. She had always been able to see right through her. Even when they had been little and their problems trivial, Maggie had a way of knowing what troubled her sister. The difference was that now for once she didn’t comment. Instead, she jutted her chin in the direction of one dour and dejected looking Daryl Dixon.

“Think he’s okay?”

Beth let out a heavy breath. Even with her attention focused on Maggie, she hadn’t let Daryl slip from her sight. He had splintered away from everyone else, stalking the outer ring. His face downcast and his thumb to his mouth, she watched as he chewed his nail, kicking irritably at the dirt.

“No,” Beth admitted with a sigh.

Maggie nodded. “He never said a word, you know. Nothing about the two of you. But now seeing you together... and after losing Glenn...”

Beth blinked, her breath stuttering a little as Maggie forced a trembling smile.

“I get why he didn’t. He had to have that part of you to keep for himself.”

Beth bit her lip. Her hand in Maggie’s, she watched the slump of Daryl’s shoulders, the shut off look in his downturned eyes. He was afraid, always had been. Even when he said he wasn’t, he was. He was afraid of losing the people he loved, just like she was.

“Why don’t the two of you take the bed tonight,” Maggie suggested, Beth turning back to her with a question in her eyes. “The rest of us can find somewhere else to sleep.”

Beth wrapped her arms around her, squeezing with all her might.

“Thank you,” She whispered in her ear, meaning it in a dozen or more ways. In two little syllables she was thanking Maggie for being the big sister and for always looking out for her. She thanked her for her love and her understanding. She thanked her for the countless sleepovers and for the millions of times she’d brushed her hair. She thanked her for her confidence and her compassion. She thanked her for her acceptance, like she might never have the chance again.

And with one last squeeze she let go. Her head high she made her way through the yard towards Daryl, nodding her acknowledgement to Rick and Michonne as she did so.

The evening sky was just starting to turn pink with the impending night. The late sun set his golden features ablaze, the traces of amber in his hair and the gray in his beard glinting in the light. Sensing her approach, he stopped his pacing. When he looked up her heart broke for his beauty and also his torment.

“Hey,” She breathed by way of greeting.

He was mumbling, a stone in his mouth for each of his worries. “Hey.”

“It’s going to be okay,” She tried to assure him.

He looked less than convinced as he struggled to meet her eye. “Uh-huh.”

“It is,” She insisted, reaching for his hand. “Daryl, you have to believe.”

He pulled away causing her to stagger back. She blinked, her lips parting for a moment in shock. When she closed them again, grim parenthesis bookended her tight mouth.

“So that’s the way it’s going to be now? You’re mad at me?”

“I ain’t mad at you,” He grumbled.

“Really, cause you’re sure as hell acting like it,” She told him pointedly.

“Well I ain’t,” He snapped, then looked around to the people still milling about - their friends, their family.

He took her by the arm a bit rougher than was usual, “C’mon.”

“Stop. Daryl, stop,” Her voice was reedy; she hated the whine as she tried to wriggle out of his firm grasp. “Where are we going?”

“We need to talk,” He growled, adding a sharp, “Alone.”

The way he was dragging her had her thinking about a different time. Liquor and anger. _Yeah, I’m an asshole when I’m drunk._ Except he wasn’t drunk. He was stone cold sober so this was something else. A different beast entirely.

The trailer door opened with a bang and he hauled her up the rickety metal steps. He yanked the door shut behind them and they were alone. Only then did he let go, releasing her arm like she had been the one to hurt him.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” She demanded, rubbing the spot above her wrist where his fingers had just been digging.

“This! All this,” He yelled, arms spread wide to encompass the whole room. “This is a bad idea!”

“You have a better one?” She challenged.

“Yeah. I do. I kill him. Give me enough time to find the right stuff and I’ll blow the whole place to hell. Kill every last one of them sumbitches.”

He was moving again, almost manically, box stepping around the table all while he avoided looking at her.

Beth gave a frustrated huff, “You know we can’t do that. There’s innocent people there, Daryl. And blowing up the place would only be cause for the outposts to retaliate. We have to take Negan alive.”

“No,” The hair fell over his eyes as he jabbed a stern finger in her direction. “We don’t have to do nothin’. We can leave. Just... go. We done alright on our own before.”

She felt her eyes go wide. “You’d run? Just leave everything and everyone we know behind?”

He gave a little snort and a short nod as he bit the cuticle of his thumb. His gunmetal eyes flashed up to hers from across the table just for a second before he was looking away again. “Mhm.”

“We can’t,” She told him.

“And why the hell not, huh?” He demanded sharply.

“Because we can’t. Our family and friends, they’re here and they need us, Daryl. We have to do this! It’s like Maggie says, we have to fight.”

“You're my family now. You and Bonnie, and I say you shouldn’t be in no damn fight.”

“Daryl...” She trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“What do you want from me, huh? You want me to say that I’m scared to have him near you? That I think of that bastard with his hands on you, touching you, and it fucking kills me? Knowing that he had you...” His expression tight, he gave a hard swallow, finally managing to grit out, “Like that.”

Beth watched in a mix of pity and fear as he bent over the table, resting his weight on his battered knuckles. That tear his armor was visible again, his weaknesses exposed, and she was afraid for him.

“I close my eyes and I... I see it,” He confessed, his voice breaking. “I don’t wanna but goddamn it, I do! And now you want to go back to him like some kind of goddamn fatted calf to slaughter and I... I can’t. I don’t have it in me to let you go.”

Tears welled in her eyes and her lip quivered. She wanted to fix everything; to know how to erase the pictures in his head and the pain from his eyes because as bad as it had been for her to have lived it, she figured whatever he was imagining had to be worse.

“I’m not going back with him,” She whispered softly. “It’s not going to come to that.”

His eyes flicked up at her, a look of uncertainty that caused Beth to suck fretfully on her lower lip.

“You know, I used to picture you finding someone else. Somehow it made it easier not to think of you alone. She was beautiful and strong; a fighter, like you. You didn’t have to worry about her keeping up or getting in to messes. She could take care of her own; she wasn’t afraid. She was just someone you could love who could love you too.”

Daryl looked up at her again, this time meeting her gaze. His eyes were narrowed, his brow worried, and his mouth pursed. Beth watched the cords in his throat contract with his swallow.

“We’re going to survive this, Daryl. The plan will work,” She said to him. “Just tell me that when it’s over things can go back to the way they were before. Tell me you’re still going to want me.”

Silence threatened to be their undoing. She was counting her breaths as Daryl held her stare, his mouth working wordlessly. His lips parted, closed, parted again, his tongue running quickly over the inside of his lip. She made it to ten. Ten breaths before he knocked back the chair with a startling bang and stalked towards her.

His rough fingers slipping in to her hair and he kissed her trembling lips.

“I want you,” He rasped, the words punctuated by his swallow as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Yer still mine and I still want you.”

“Oh Daryl,” She whimpered, her voice weak and reedy as she chased his kiss.

He backed her towards the bed slowly, guiding her until she sat down heavily on the squeaky mattress. He knelt before her like a sinner at the alter, his forearms on her jean clad thighs and his hands on her widening waist as he stretched up for another kiss.

“Tell me you love me,” She panted. Having only ever heard him say it the one time, she wanted to hear it again.

Daryl sat back on his heels, staring up at her and suddenly she didn’t need to hear him say the words. His eyes were clouded with it, his cheeks flushed. She could see his feelings for her written all over his face and marveled how she hadn’t noticed before.

“I love you, Beth,” He said hoarsely. “Have from the very beginnin’. And I ain’t ‘bout to stop.”

Her eyes blurred with sudden tears. “I love you too,” She whispered.

He kissed her again, quickly, before wresting her shirt over her head. Beth tried to stifle her gasp and her head dipped in sudden embarrassment. She didn’t wear a bra and she attempted to cover her naked, engorged breasts. She felt grotesque. Her nipples, once a pale pink blush were now the color of a deep whorish rouge and seemed to her to be obscene in their size. Her breasts were heavy with pre milk and sagged grossly over the taut orb that had replaced her once flat stomach.

Daryl’s brow wrinkled in concern at her reaction as he pushed the dark hair out of his eyes. He frowned. Gently, he took hold of her bird boned wrists, guiding her arms away. She shut her eyes tight.

“You’re beautiful,” He murmured before kissing right above the swell of her right breast. With his lips against her hot skin, he looked up at her face. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

She opened her eyes.

“This,” He said with his callused hands on her belly. “Your body, our daughter growing inside you, I don’t even got words for how beautiful it is.”

“Oh,” She breathed.

“We don’t got to do nothin’,” He graveled, his course whiskers brushing over the smooth skin of her stomach, his warm breath causing her to break out in gooseflesh. “I understand if you don’t wanna, but you better know that yer beautiful. That much hadn’t changed.”

She could feel her heart swell so big in her chest that she thought it might burst. Of course he would know the right words to say, he was Daryl. He might have been crass 99 percent of the time but she could always count on him to say the right thing when she needed it most.Her hips shifted forward on the bed, her body inching closer to his.

“Please Daryl,” Her voice was husky with want. “I need you. God, how I need you.”

And so he lay her gently down, her head cradled in his capable hand as his body covered hers like a protective blanket. Unable to button her borrowed jeans, they were tied with a piece of string, his deft fingers making quick work of the knot. He stripped her bare, her golden hair spread around her like a gilded halo, then he sat back on his knees to look at her with nothing but admiration in his eyes.

“Yer mine, Beth. Ain’t nothin’ gonna change that,” He promised. “Nothin’.”

“You’re mine too,” She replied in a breathy whisper, reaching for him. “Forever.” She added when his lips were again pressed to hers.

Hours later when it was fully dark out and the chirp of crickets was the only sound to be heard outside the open trailer window, Beth lay curled on her side with her legs entwined with Daryl’s and her head nestled in to the crook of his shoulder. Her whole body tingled with his love and attention. He had kissed every inch of her, adored every freckle and worshiped every stretch mark. He cherished her, wholly and truly, and he showed her as much in the way that he made love to her.

Neither of them slept. With one arm under her neck and the hand of the other tracing lazy circles over her stomach, Daryl had his eyes open, his cheek against the crown of her head. He didn’t want to lose a second of this precious time to sleep and neither did she. It was their first true night together since the funeral home and though neither one would say it, they both knew it could also be their last. They wouldn’t waste it.

“I love you,” She told him again, feeling the need to repeat herself as many times as possible.

“Hmm,” His cheek twitched as he looked down his nose at her. “I know. I love you too.”

Beth nodded, kissing the spot right beside his dark nipple. Soon they would need to get up, to get dressed and head out, but for now they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, neither one saying out loud what they were both thinking.

Suddenly Daryl shifted, letting out a grunt and a groan. When he pulled his arm from beneath her head, she couldn’t help but begin to panic.

“What is it?” She asked, again hating how whiny and desperate she sounded. Weak, even. “We still got time.”

“No babygirl, we don’t,” He graveled, reaching for his pants. “‘If we go’n do this there’s something else we gotta do first.”

Beth watched him, her brow perplexed. “What?”

He tossed her her clothes, “C’mon. We can talk about it on the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!!!
> 
> I apologize for the absence and thank you for your continued reading!!!


	25. More or Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, Daryl,” Negan chuckled. “I can hear the hamster wheel a-turnin’. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You want to kill me.”
> 
> “Killing you would be too fucking easy,” The redneck graveled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could it be, an update? Really?!

He could still taste her kiss on his lips. Like a goddamn animal, he could smell her. Her scent was in his nose; his clothes, his hair, seeping from his goddamn pores. It was like the days that followed the funeral home all over again. She was there and yet she wasn’t. It made the skin around his collar itch and his chest ache.

Daryl closed his eyes. He was so fucking tired. Not tired liked he’d been up all night or even tired like he’d been during that hard winter when they’d been on the road and there hadn’t been enough food or warmth or sleep to around. It went deeper than that. He could feel it in his muscles; in his bones. This was exhaustion and all he wanted to do was make the world stop even if just for a second so he could catch up. Maybe if he just had a few minutes to get right in his head then he’d be alright, but there wasn’t enough time.

He was coming.

_Negan? Negan, please. Do as he says. Don’t let him hurt me._

Beth has been so damn convincing. Her head down and that little bit of tremble in her voice, pleading as she talked in to the radio. Daryl had wanted to stuff cotton in to his ears to keep from hearing it. For a second he’d thought about snatching the two-way from her and smashing it against a tree. They still had time then; they could have run away, but all that would have proven was how much of a coward he really was while putting everyone else in danger and he couldn’t do that. Beth was right, they had to follow the plan.

He just wished they had more time.

“You alright?”

Daryl opened his eyes. In front of him Alexandria’s barred gate, to the right Rick, and behind them tucked away in their quiet little houses, all the people who were depending on this plan to work. Little Ass-Kicker, Gabriel; everyone.

“Mhm.”

“I know it’s different for you now.”

Daryl didn’t have to look at Rick to know the look on his face. They were brothers. They knew each other like that. After a few seconds though, he looked at him anyway.

“You got to be okay with this or it ain’t goin’ to work. Anyone with half a mind is goin’ to see right through you.”

“If it was Michonne?” Daryl asked in a grumble.

Rick shook his head. “I’d tear every one of them limb from limb but everyone here is dependin’ on you not doing that. Maggie and The Hilltop too. You got to do it for all of them. It all comes down to you.”

Daryl scowled. He didn’t need the reminder.

“It’s gunna work,” Rick told him.

“What if it don’t?” Daryl challenged.

Rick clapped him on the back and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It will.”

Daryl’s face was grim. “Just remember what we talked about before.”

The sheriff gave a nod. “I know.”

“If it don’t go like we planned...” Daryl started nervously.

“If things don’t go as planned, we’ll take care of it like we always do,” Rick finished for him. “But it’s not goin’ to come down to that.”

“Promise me, Rick,” It wasn’t like him to need reassurance, not like this. Vows and promises, that was Beth’s thing not his, but right now he needed it.

“If somethin’ happens to you and he takes her, we’ll do whatever it takes to get her back,” Rick told him. “I’ll take care of them; Beth and the baby both.”

That’s what he needed to know. The redneck grunted once and gave a final nod while Rick gave his shoulder a little shake, telling him it was all good.

A couple minutes went by, neither one of them saying nothing. The sun was creeping higher over the horizon. It wasn’t hot yet but it would be soon.

Finally, Rick said it. “Seriously though, sweet little Beth Greene?”

In his head, Daryl groaned.

“Man, shut up,” He complained.

“Hey, it’s cool,” Rick smirked. “It’s just...”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

“Say it.”

“She knows you’re an asshole, right?”

Daryl snorted. His cheek twitched and he shook the hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, she knows,” He drawled.

“I’m goin’ to need you to fill me in on some details,” Rick told him. “Later.”

It was going to have to be later. In the distance he could make out the distinct rumble of truck engines. Three of them, at least. Maybe more. He had told the bastard to come alone but it didn’t matter. They had planned for this. Beth had said Negan never left The Sanctuary without a crew of lackeys and they had seen as much themselves. The sumbitch was psychotic but he wasn’t dumb.

“Okay,” Rick sighed. “Here we go.”

This time they didn’t wait for anyone to come knocking. Rick dragged open the gate and stepped to the side as the caravan came roaring in. A few timid faces peaked out from behind curtained windows but Rick waved them back. They weren’t trying to have anyone turned into examples by The Saviors this time. Only Daryl and Rick needed to be out there, though the others weren’t too far away.

“Where is she?” Negan demanded before he had even jumped from the passenger seat of the first truck, his goddamn head looking like it was about to pop like a tick off a hound. The sumbitch was coming unhinged and honestly, Daryl was a little surprised by it.

He didn’t even flinch when Negan leveled the tip of that goddamn bat between his eyes.

“You,” Negan snarled, Lucille bobbing in front of Daryl’s nose making him want to go cross eyed. “You have no idea how completely fucked you are.”

Popping the bat suddenly upwards Negan caught it mid handle then leaned forward so that Daryl could taste the after notes of spearmint and leather on the back of his tongue. He gritted his teeth as Negan touched the barbed barrel of Lucille to his brow - a goddamn sinners blessing.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Negan said in a harsh whisper. “I was going to, but no. I decided that killing you would be too fucking easy. Nah, instead I’m going to kill everyone you care about. Every. Last. One of them. Then you can rot in your fucking cell for the rest of your pitiful goddamn life, knowing that you did that. You. Not me. Certainly not my Saviors here, but you Daryl. You’re the one who is pulling the fucking trigger. Now, where is she?”

Daryl took a deep breath and puffed his chest. He refused to cower. He wouldn’t do it. Not to this asshole.

“Have your men hand over their weapons,” Rick ordered, interrupting the stare down between psychopath and hick.

Negan’s jaw clenched. Rage flashed in his eyes and he turned on his heel.

“You just don’t fucking get it do you, Rick? You’re not the one calling the shots here.”

Rick didn’t falter. “Hand them over.”

Negan choked up on Lucille, preparing to swing. For a second Daryl felt the panic start to rise like puke in his throat, visions of Glenn and Abraham and that baseball bat flashing in front of his eyes. He caused this. It was all on him, and he heard Negan say how he was going to enjoy it.

“I’ll kill her,” He announced, then taking a breath. “The kid too.”

It was like a wall went up, cutting him off six inches from Rick’s face. Negan looked back over his shoulder at Daryl, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” He demanded.

Daryl gave the signal - his left hand raised over his shoulder, and suddenly the radio on some lackeys hip began to crackle.

“Negan?” Cutting through the static, Beth’s weak voice quivered with fear. “Please, please do what they say.”

Negan’s nostrils flared and his face went red hot. Everyone began to look around, trying to pinpoint where her voice was coming from.

“Where is she? Where the fuck do you have her?”

“Hand over the guns first. Knives too,” Daryl said, looking him square in the eye. Then he nodded towards that ugly bastard, Dwight. “And I’m takin’ my crossbow back.”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Negan snarled, white spittle bubbling at the corners of his mouth.

Daryl’s cheek twitched in a not quite smirk and he gave the signal again. The radio came to life once more, only this time the static was interrupted by the sound of a tussle and then Beth’s pained scream. A searing hot rod of white pain tore through his goddamn guts. It was killing him to hear her sounding that way, but picturing the alternative helped keep him in check. Rick was right, it all came down to him and what he did here.

“Enough. ENOUGH!” Negan shouted. Daryl dropped his hand and the screaming cut off abruptly.

Negan was panting through clenched teeth now. “You’re going to pay for that. You’re all going to fucking pay. Where is she?”

“First the weapons,” Rick drawled.

“You fucking prick,” The bat wielding sumbitch snarled, turning towards the sheriff again.

“Hey, we can do this all day,” Daryl interjected. “Can she?”

Negan turned again, looking like a damn ping pong; like he couldn’t make up his mind.

“You hurt our people, we hurt her. That’s how this goes,” Daryl growled. “Eye for a goddamn eye. So what’s it gunna be, asshole?”

“You think just because you have our guns, you’re going to be able to stop the shit storm that’s coming your way? Are you really that fucking stupid?” Negan scoffed but Daryl could tell he had him.

“She sure is a pretty thing. It’d be a damn shame...” Daryl graveled out slowly, hating himself for what he was implying but knowing at the same time that it was necessary. “Now hand ‘em over.”

Negan looked to his people, his mouth all puckered like he’d just taken a bite of something bad. He gave them a short nod. At first there were looks of uncertainty passed between them but then slowly, one by one, the posse dropped their weapons.

Ten Saviors plus their psycho leader added up to 9 rifles of various caliber, 11 handguns, a dozen or so bladed weapons, Daryl’s crossbow, and one blood crusted, barbed wire covered baseball bat. It was only a small arsenal but The Saviors looked totally lost without it.

Daryl measured the weight of his returned crossbow in his hands. It felt good. It was like extension of his body - like he’d lost a limb and now it’d grown back.

“You got our guns, so now what?” Negan asked, still sounding too goddamn sure of himself. “You going to try and kill us, is that it?”

Palming the foregrip of the bow, Daryl thought of how easy it’d be to release a bolt in to Negan’s skull - hell, in to all their damn skulls. He could tick them off one by one, lining them up like pop cans on a fence rail. It’d feel good. It’d feel damn good. And for a second he thought he’d do it. He could feel his trigger finger itching to pull one off. One clean shot he could end it all here and now. Then he thought of Maggie crying over Glenn and how he’d thought he could end it then too. Thought of Beth’s screams and how terrible it’d be if they turned real. He looked at Rick standing there, no doubt having the same damn thoughts about the bastard in front of them, and slowly he lowered his weapon.

“Ah, Daryl,” Negan chuckled. “I can hear the hamster wheel a-turnin’. You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You want to kill me.”

“Killing you would be too fucking easy,” The redneck graveled.

“Here’s how this is goin’ to work,” Rick said. “We’re keeping your weapons and your people, they’re goin’ to leave. Once they’re gone we’ll hand over the girl. You try to pull anything, the deals off.”

Negan’s eyes narrowed and his lip curled up in one corner like he was amused. His jaw stubbled in new beard growth, he scratched at it with trim, clean nails.

“I want to see her first,” He countered. “That radio has a range of 50 miles. I want to know she’s here.”

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. Neither one of them could say they were surprised. So far things had been moving right along as planned. They knew this moment was coming, but knowing didn’t make what he had to do next any easier. With a scowl on his face Daryl gave a short nod.

Even though he couldn’t see it, he could picture exactly what would happen next. Beth sitting on the side of the bed in that goddamn barely there nightie that he wanted to burn when this was all over. Michonne watching from the upstairs window and seeing his signal. Beth’s hands tied behind her back, Carl would have to help her up. She’d take a second to steady herself, then they’d walk out in to the hall together past Little Ass-Kickers room and to the stairs.

A few minutes went by before he felt the shift in the air around him telling him she was near. The hair on the back of his arms rose and his mouth went dry. He didn’t want to turn and look at her. Didn’t want to look at Negan neither. So he focused on the ground instead, giving away nothing. He only looked up when he heard Negan suck a hard breath between his teeth. He looked like his eyes might bulge from his head and his jaw was tight. Daryl looked over his shoulder to see what he saw.

Beth stood in the middle of the street between Carl and Michonne, Carl holding Rick’s colt to her temple. Her hands were behind her back just like he knew they would be since he’d been the one to tie them that way. Her head down, a loose buttery lock was hanging in front of her face and her ponytail fell over her shoulder. She looked vulnerable and frail the way she curved around her belly and she was standing pigeon toed with her bare feet. When she looked up there were tears shining in her eyes and dirt streaked across her cheek. She wouldn’t look at him.

“You sorry son of a -,” Negan roared, pulling his attention back.

Daryl drew the bow up again, cutting him off as he lunged forward. “That’s close enough.”

Negan took a step back. His teeth tight, he raked his fingers through his hair, letting out a sharp huff through his nose.

“Negan,” Beth whimpered pitifully.

“It’s okay baby, daddy’s just taking care of a little business,” He told her with a forced smile, making Daryl’s stomach cramp like he had the trots.

“You’ve seen her, now it’s time for your men to go,” Rick said in that slow southern drawl of his.

“You really are an asshole, you know that?” Negan snapped. He looked from Beth with a gun to her head back to his men. It should have been a no brainer but still the sumbitch hesitated. Finally, he sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

It took several minutes for the 10 Saviors to load up in to two of the three trucks. Everyone watched as they backed slowly through the gate, leaving Negan alone without their numbers or their protection.

“Well boys, it looks like prom nights over and you got me all to yourselves,” He said all the while his eyes bouncing from Rick to Daryl. “I hope you plan on behaving like a pair of fucking gentlemen.”

“We propose a trade,” Rick started.

Negan scoffed. “Well shit, do you like my fucking jacket? You already took my goddamn guns - my sweet girl, Lucille. You’ve got my wife here - shit, my pregnant fucking wife. What in the shit do you expect me to trade, prick?”

“Your life,” Daryl growled.

Negan’s eyes twitched. “My men are coming back here with more of my fucking men, not to mention their guns. You have no idea the world of hurt -.”

“It’s you for the girl,” Rick interrupted him. “Not to mention your baby. That makes it two for one.”

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me with this. Do you really think killing me is going to save all of you?”

Carl yanked Beth up by under her arm causing her to cry out in such a way that had Daryl fighting the need to jump to her aide. He didn’t know how much more he could take; the gun pressed against her temple like that and her lip quivering for good measure. Her pretty blue eyes sparkling with tears and her cheeks flushed pink. She whimpered again and Negan made to move for her.

“Okay! Okay. Jesus fucking Christ,” He agreed, his palms up in surrender.

Rick moved and so did Daryl, the crossbow aimed in case Negan tried to pull a fast one. It occurred to him somewhere that they had jumped the first hurdle. Shit wasn’t about to get easier any time soon but phase one was at least done. Their plan had worked more or less.

The pain cut through him like a hot knife through butter. No. Worse than that. Like a goddamn bullet through fat, muscle, and bone. It stopped him dead in his tracks and the world around him went silent. Daryl looked down through straggly strands of hair to see the dark stain seeping through the front of his shirt - the blood on his fingers. Then he dropped like a stone to his knees.

Funny that it wasn’t until then that he heard the gunshot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not my dear sweet readers, another absence is not expected as long as Negan decides to play nice and doesn’t talk too damn much.
> 
> As always, please comment what you think!


	26. This... Sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire story has been leading to this chapter. Please leave questions, comments, and concerns at the end.

He was pressing in on her from behind, inching her forward so that the front of her thighs touched the low dresser they stood before. His breath warming her neck, tickling the fines hairs around her ear.

“Show me again,” He ordered, his voice thick with smokers grit and something akin to worry.

“Daryl,” She complained. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I already showed you twice.”

He was indifferent to her whining. 

“I got to be sure you can slip the knot,” He graveled from over her shoulder. “C’mon now. Again.”

With a heavy sigh Beth wiggled her bound hands behind her back, her half numb fingertips grazing his belt. Much like a Chinese finger trap nothing happened if she pulled both hands at once but when she moved the left first, and then the right... 

“I hope you know it ain’t always gunna be like this,” She huffed, bringing her free hands around front and holding them up like a magician at the end of the trick. “Tada!”

In the mirror above the dresser he gave a satisfactory nod of approval before meeting her reflection’s eyes. “Ain’t always gunna be like what?”

She turned around to face him proper, her big belly brushing against his flat one as she did. “Me taking orders from you.”

“Never said I expected you to take orders,” He argued.

“Mhm,” She gave him a dry little half smile.

“Ain’t like you to ever listen no how.”

She gave a mock gasp of indignation. “I listen!”

Daryl snorted. “I got about a good a chance of gettin’ you to listen as winning the damn powerball tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” She said innocently, biting her lip to keep from smiling.

“Uh huh,” He grumbled.

A silly grin broke out over her face. “What was that now?”

Daryl’s steel blue eyes narrowed down at her. “You’re lucky yer cute, Greene.”

She didn’t even try to hold back her laugh. With her hands on his chest she leaned up on bare toes, ghosting her lips over his. “Pretty sure you mean Dixon now,” She whispered, hissing slightly on the X.

His cheek ticked in a crooked smirk. “‘Spose I do,” He said in a gentle drawl.

It had all happened so quick. They had set out from The Hilltop three hours before sunrise, Daryl busting out their cars taillights and not even chancing the use of headlights should The Saviors be patrolling the roads. Once they had arrived at Alexandria, they quickly woke up Rick and informed him of their intentions. Then there was the priest Daryl had told her about, Father Gabriel, who had warm eyes and a tortured smile. Of course he would help them, he had said. It’d be his honor. Beth wished Maggie could have been there but was happy when Michonne offered to stand in as her maid of honor while Rick was, of course, the best man. The two were also the only witnesses to the garage-church wedding, but that was just fine by all those concerned. With their quick vows to love, honor, and cherish and a ring made from a length of Daryl’s bootlace for Beth, they were both just happy to have it done.

Holding her by the elbows Daryl pulled her closer, deepening their kiss and causing Beth to hum in pleasure. She knew he didn’t care about faith or God. The truth of it was he didn’t give a damn if they were married in the eyes of the Lord or their union blessed by a priest, but it mattered to her just like it would have mattered to her daddy and so he made sure they did it right. Not only was his claim on her real but he made sure that no one besides him could ever again rightfully call her wife.

Their kiss ending, Beth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. There was a dull nagging in the pit of her stomach that she just couldn’t seem to shake. She managed to meet Daryl’s eyes for a moment before letting her gaze drop to the hardwood floor.

“Hey,” He seemed to purr. He cupped her chin in his callused hand, pulling her attention back up to him. There was concern in his eyes. “You scared?” 

She swallowed hard, her lips pressed together in a grim line as she nodded her head. 

He frowned. His voice came out hoarse when he said, “Me too.”

She sagged against his chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she was trying to commit everything to memory. The slow rise and fall of his breathing, the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath her ear. He smelled of cigarettes and engine grease and dirt after a rainstorm, and so she took a long deep breath.

“I love you,” She whispered softly.

“I know babygirl,” He graveled, kissing her troubled brow. “I love you too.” 

She was struck dumb. Her breath stuttering, the gunshot ringing in her ears, she was hearing the echo of Daryl’s ‘I love you’ as she watched him fall. 

Michonne was pulling on her, trying to get her to move but she just couldn’t. Her feet had grown roots. Carl had let go of her. He dropped back, aiming his gun, searching the fence line for the shooter, shouting words Beth couldn’t hear as she stared in open mouth horror at the dropped crossbow and the blood and Daryl slumped over on his side.

“Beth. Beth! BETH!”

She gasped as Negan’s meaty hand enclosed around her bicep. She blinked at him, feeling like it was all a bad dream. A nightmare of his doing. It was all his fault.

“Let’s go!” He shouted at her.

Michonne wasn’t about to let go. Her katana was strapped to her back but she couldn’t draw it and keep her grip on Beth at the same time. She gave a hard pull so that for a second the blonde girl became like the rope in game of tug-a-war. Then the rope snapped. Her lips parted and her eyes shining, Beth wrested out of Michonne’s hold and in to Negan’s, leaving the beautiful warrior slightly baffled.

“Come on,” He barked, spinning her around so that her bare feet scraped painfully on the rough concrete as another shot was fired.

It was like the world was stuck in slow motion as Beth watched Michonne dive for cover. Carl had his back against the fence, his mouth moving but the words escaping her. Rick had a gun and had tucked himself against the porch of a nearby house. Not sure of where to aim, his eyes were bouncing from Negan to the trees where she could only assume the gunshots had originated from.

“Get in the truck,” He ordered.

Daryl was motionless on the ground. She silently willed him to move, to give her some sign of life, but nothing. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. 

“Come on!” Negan roared at her, yanking violently on her bound arm but her feet wouldn’t budge. “The hell are you waiting for?”

It was all his fault. Daryl was on the ground not five feet away from them bleeding out because of him. It all came back to him. It was all his fault.

Beth took a breath. Left first, then her right.

“It’s all your fault,” She whispered.

“What?” He was loosing what little patience he had and she could tell he was close to picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder. In fact, part of her couldn’t believe he hadn’t already tried. “The fuck are you talking about? I said we got to MOVE.”

“No,” She said, planting her feet defiantly.

Negan turned back on her. With his one arm back, it looked as though he might strike her. His mouth half open like he would speak but the words never came. Like the rest of Beth’s world, Negan froze in mid-animation when she stuck him with the knife that Daryl had strapped to her thigh hidden beneath the hem of her nightgown.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” She said as she forced her blade deeper in to his side.

Negan’s brow drew together over puzzled brown eyes. The grip on her arm loosened but didn’t let go as he took a staggered step back.

“W-why?” He wondered.

Her entire body trembled as she held fast to the blood slick knife handle. “I’m not your wife.”

The look on his face was more confused by her betrayal than angry, as his breathing grew irregular. Beth had a distant thought of a punctured lung.

“S-sweet Bethy,” He managed, his eyes flickering down to her stomach. “T-the baby. M-my son.”

“No,” She said it firmly once then whispered it again. “No.”

He looked up at her again. His eyes pained, he let out a whimpering breath. She thought of the man he must have been before; of the stories he had sometimes told her either out of boredom or loneliness. His beloved wife Lucille and how he had stayed by her side in the hospital even after the rumors of the outbreak had started to spread. How they had only ever wanted a child of their own - a son - but how it had never come to be. She could almost pity him. After all, he hadn’t always been a monster.

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. For a moment it was just the two of them. There were no vulgar witticisms, no violent fits of pent up rage. They just stood there, accepting what it was, what it had always been. Then his eyes, which hadn’t always been cruel, fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder. 

Negan’s face twisted in a painful grimace, his mouth opening in a silent, ‘No’. Before Beth could even begin to understand what was happening, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and spun her around, her knife still sticking from his ribs. Then she heard the shot and a jolt went through Negan. He let out a grunt as the bullet meant for her lodged in his back.

Beth gasped. Return shots were fired as Negan clung to her for support.

“T-this... fucking sucks,” He said, his legs starting to buckle.

Beth was panting as she helped lower him to his knees. Kneeling before her there was a passing look of tranquility in his eyes and he ran a hand over her stomach, leaving a bloody handprint on her white shift.

“T-the baby,” He murmured.

He was swaying on his knees and Beth had to pry her arm free of his bruising fingers. There were tears in her eyes as the shooting abruptly stopped. Simon, the most favored of Negan’s Saviors, lay dead outside the open gate a lone M1911 pistol at his side. 

Beth looked around her - to Rick, to Carl, to Michonne. Alexandrian’s were beginning to appear in the upstairs windows of the houses around them, the morning sun glaring off the glass making their faces look ethereal. Negan fell at her feet and suddenly the world started to turn again.


	27. Blood and Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues...

Blood. Blood everywhere. Water came hissing from the faucet, too hot to be comfortable but not hot enough to make one feel clean. Thick, iron rich, blood filled the bowls in the sink so that they spilled over and streaked the stainless steel wash basin. It covered her hands and forearms. It was in her hair. The metallic scent of it so thick that it coated the back of her throat, making it hard to breathe. She was drowning in blood, her life preserver the sound of pudgy, hands banging impatiently on a high chair tray.

Some days she was fine and others she found herself triggered by something as silly as the tomato soup they had for lunch.

Beth choked down the taste of tin. Turning off the sink, she decided to leave the dishes for later.

“Oh my goodness,” She said with a sigh, forcing a smile long enough for it to become real. Only then did she turn from the kitchen sink. “Such a racket, Bonnie.”

The baby looking back at her with her carefree toothless smile was such the spitting image of her father that at times it made Beth’s heart ache. Her fine baby hair was the same rich mahogany color and her hooded eyes the same slate blue. There was no denying Daryl Dixon in the sweet, innocent face of his daughter.

There was applesauce smeared across the baby’s full cheeks and in her hair. With a wet dishrag Beth set to work cleaning the mess, cooing as mothers were want to do in response to her child's babbling.

“Cookies now?” Judith asked from her chair at the kitchen table. She sat on her knees and had a tendency to bounce when she was excited, like over the possibility of cookies.

“The cookies are for later,” Beth explained patiently, keeping her voice light and untroubled. “For after dinner when everyone is home.”

It was days like these, when she had to pretend not to worry for the sake of the children, that really took it out of her. She had no way of knowing if everyone would make it home for dinner. She knew as well as anyone that there were no guarantees in life anymore. Whenever somebody stepped foot outside of Alexandria’s gates there was always the chance that they wouldn’t make it back but Beth had to pretend for the girls. She smiled and baked cookies using Carol’s recipe and prayed that today wouldn’t be the day she was made a liar.

“Here, we can share one,” Beth conceded as she took a cookie from the tray. 

She divided the cookie in half, giving the larger of the two pieces to Judith before taking a bite off the second and giving the rest to the baby. At ten months Bonnie Blue Dixon was just starting to cut her bottom teeth but cookies made with applesauce instead of butter had a tendency to be soft and chewy, so Beth felt confident in allowing her to mash and naw to her little hearts content.

“Is daddy gunna see Shiva?” Judith asked between chews.

“Mhm,” Beth answered. “The council is meeting at The Kingdom, remember?”

The toddler giggled, her lips smacking after a drink of water from her plastic cup. “King ‘Zekiel is funny.”

Beth thought of the dreadlocked man with his royal guards touring the streets of Alexandria like it was the most normal thing in the world to have a tiger on a leash. He had bowed to Beth and called her ‘Milady,’ causing her to blush and stammer like he really had been a king.

“King Ezekiel is funny,” Beth agreed with a soft smile.

King Ezekiel and The Kingdom; his pet tiger. The new world definitely erred on the side of funny, but funny or not the council and it’s new alliances made the world a much bigger and safer place. 

After Negan the relationship between The Kingdom, The Hilltop, and Alexandria had been paramount in the systematic take down of his Saviors. Now they had a joint defense against threats both undead or otherwise not to mention the trade opportunities. They were even expanding now; a group of survivors made up of women and children who had also once suffered at the hands of Negan’s Saviors. They had guns and ammunition and being camped near the ocean, stores of fish. That’s why the council was converging at The Kingdom. Oceanside had agreed to send representatives to tour the other communities and negotiate trade arrangements. It was all very exciting but still Beth would feel better once everyone was safely at home. 

It had been two days since they’d left and still no word.

As though summoned by her worries the front door slid open, Rick Grimes standing in the doorway. 

“Daddy!” Judith squealed while Bonnie clapped and Beth breathed a sigh of relief.

Rick strolled through to the kitchen, a weary smile on his face.

“Hey Sweetheart.” He bent over Judith first, kissing her crown before moving on to Bonnie in her highchair. “Mmm, you smell like... applesauce?”

“Olivia made it fresh yesterday,” Beth offered by way off greeting. “How did it go?”

“Everything went fine,” He told her, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Michonne and Tara are just getting everyone settled in the guest house. Jesus will take them on to Hilltop tomorrow. How’d things go here?”

“Good,” Beth answered. “Carl’s running weapons training in the park.”

“I saw,” Rick said with a nod, then looking her in the eye he asked, “How are you doin’ Beth?”

“Better now that y’all are home,” She confessed.

Rick smiled at her, warm and fatherly. “Things are good now. You don’t have to worry so much.”

Dada!” Bonnie cried, causing both adults to look her way. The infant followed her first proclamation with a second one while reaching for Rick. “Dada!”

“Oh Bonnie, no,” Beth groaned.

“It’s okay,” Rick tried to sooth though his laughing did help. “It’s only ‘cause she hears Judith say it.”

“I know,” She told him, sharper than she meant to as she picked up her daughter. “It still ain’t funny though.”

“Carl called his preschool teacher ‘mama’ at least once a week there for a while,” Rick offered.

Beth shot him a look. “Not helping.”

“What ain’t helpin’?”

Beth sucked in a breath. With the baby on her hip she spun on her heels at the familiar clomp of boots on hardwood. 

“She called you daddy again, didn’t she?” Daryl shot a glowering at his friend as he dropped a canvas knapsack from his shoulder to the floor.

Rick, who was standing with his hands on the back of Judith’s chair, smirked. “Bonnie did. Not Beth.”

“You hush,” Beth scolded, though only half heartedly. She was already rushing through the kitchen to the open front entry. Daryl let out a hard ‘omph’ as she collided with him.

“Easy girl. You’ll knock a guy over like that,” He complained but he was smiling as he crashed his lips to hers. 

Their kiss was briefer than either of them liked; just a quick sweep of his tongue through her mouth letting her know that he was home and his love intact. When they parted he pressed his brow to his wife’s for a moment, his protective hand on their child’s back.

“Gotta git you to stop calling Rick ‘Dada’,” He said, taking the baby from her mother and cuddling her close. With a thumb to his chest, he asked, “Who’s this? Who am I?”

“Da-da-da-da-da!” Bonnie chanted happily, patting his whisker stubbled cheek as she was known to do.

“That’s my girl.” His words were muffled by the dimpled hand that Bonnie was trying to stick his mouth. “The hell’s so sticky?”

“Language,” Beth laughed, her hands on her hips as she watched father and daughter. “And to answer your question, she just had a cookie.”

“Mmm,” Daryl wiggled his eyebrows at his daughter, his lips smacking against her open palm. His short beard glistened with drool, though whether it was his or the baby’s was unknown at the moment. “Yum.”

Beth shook her head. “Gross.”

“Grosser than her parents tryin’ to eat each other two seconds ago?” Rick quipped from the kitchen.

Holding her hand away from his face, Daryl planted a kiss on Bonnie’s cheek. 

“Man, don’t you got somewheres to be?” He groused.

Beth could all but hear the eye roll as the sheriff pulled Judith’s chair back from the kitchen table. 

“C’mon Judith, I think Uncle Daryl and Auntie Beth want to be alone. Let’s go see how they’re getting along unloadin’ supplies at the pantry. Say bye.”

“Bye Judith.”

“See ya Lil’ Ass-Kicker,” Daryl smirked.

Rick whispered something in his daughters ear as he breezed past them.

“Bye! Don’t make any more babies!” Judith called over her fathers shoulder as he carried her down the porch steps.

“Laugh it up, Grimes!” Daryl shouted after them. “Yer lucky she’s cute!”

Beth couldn’t help but laugh. “You seem to say that a lot now days.”

The roughneck narrowed his eyes at his wife while at the same time bouncing his daughter in his arms. He grumbled under breath something about the number of girls living in the house.

Beth poked him in the stomach. “I think you’re just going soft.”

He caught her by the finger before she could poke him again.

“Don’t,” He gritted, his expression not quite pained but certainly uncomfortable.

Worry etched her brow and she wriggled her hand free from his grasp. With lithe fingers she undid the buttons of his shirt. The front door still open, the community outside bustling, Daryl knew better than to fight her so instead he kicked the door closed with his heel, giving them some privacy as she opened his shirt.

The puckered scar just right of center of his abdomen was still an angry purplish red, the raised surgery scar left by Harlan Carson a little less so. Beth couldn’t look at either without thinking of Daryl’s ashen face, his shallow breathing, the vile smell of perforated bowel, Dr. Carson’s warning that the mortality rate for such wounds was near 15% even under the best of circumstances. 

Everything had been so uncertain then; The Saviors still a threat. Daryl couldn’t be moved for weeks and Beth had flat out refused to leave his side. The ill-timed infection and fevered nightmares that took hold at the same time that The Hilltop fell under attack. They had lay in hiding in a root cellar, Beth trying her damndest to stifle Daryl’s feverish cries. She had feared the worst that night; knowing that if he died she’d be the one to put him down all while praying for her water not to break.

“Hey.” Daryl interrupted her haunted memory with a finger under her chin. “It don’t hurt. Jus’ don’t like the reminder that I’ve gone soft ‘round the middle.”

“You haven’t,” She whispered softly, holding back the tears that threatened over the thought of almost losing him. 

“I’m so happy you’re home,” She murmured, leaning in to him with a sigh.

“Me too,” He graveled, kissing the top of her flaxen head. “Got one of them cookies for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I said there was more to this story, and perhaps maybe there still is. I intended to explore the relationships between the surviving groups more and also for Negan to be alive, but this morning I woke up and realized that this chapter rounded things up nicely. It is it's natural end and maybe that is why I hit a block, so far now.... The End. :-)


	28. K-I-S-S-I-N-G on the Couch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth and Daryl have a little alone time which leads to a conversation about the future of their little family. Also, Rick is a troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been over a month? I took some time off for the holidays and wrote some Christmas nonsense (which is officially another WIP now) but I’m back and I’m excited.
> 
> I didn’t intend this chapter to go the way it did, in fact in some ways it could be considered a drabble, but Daryl decided to go his own way and Beth of course followed. I hope you all enjoy!

He couldn’t look at her the same way anymore. There was no sense in pretending he could. Truth was, she’d changed. They both had. And no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t seem to see that scared little innocent girl that she had been back on her daddy’s farm.

Hard as it was believe, it wasn’t what happened with Negan that changed the way Daryl saw her. It wasn’t the way she fought to protect everyone they cared about. It wasn’t the way she never gave up. It wasn’t even their time in that damn cellar at The Hilltop; her hand over his mouth and a gun aimed at the goddamn door like she’d shoot the first person to stumble upon them. No. That was just Beth being Beth. She was tough. Tougher than most people ever gave her credit for. What changed everything for him was Bonnie. Beth giving birth to their daughter made real for Daryl the fact that she was stronger than he ever could be. That girl wasn’t scared of nothing and that scared the hell out of him.

She had him pinned to the couch. As she straddled his lap he held her beautiful, round, jean covered ass in his hands while she slurped and sucked her way along his collarbone making him moan obscenely.

“Hold up, girl,” He groaned out one side of his mouth as she planted a kiss on the other. “Someone could come in.”

“You locked the door.” She was pushing his opened shirt back over his shoulders.

“But Bonnie -,” He started to argue while also wrestling his arms free of his sleeves.

“Is in a cookie coma upstairs,” Her voice was light and carefree, like they didn’t have a damn thing to worry about making out like a couple of love drunk teenagers on the living room sofa.

She ran her fingers nails up his bare sides sending shivers down to his already throbbing dick and making it twitch against his pants zipper. The girl could be damn distracting, especially when he didn’t want her to be.

“Beth,” He gave a halfhearted protest as she kissed his neck. Her nipples were pebbled beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt and she pressed herself against his chest. “Beth!”

“Good grief, Daryl,” She huffed, sitting back on his thighs and looking annoyed. “What?”

“I couldn’t find any rubbers,” He admitted lamely, wishing he didn’t have to. “I tried. The couple places we hit on the way were cleaned out.”

She quirked a brow at him. “So?”

“So,” He was holding her back with his hands firmly on either side of her waist. “Unless Carl has a stash in his sock drawer, we’re out.”

Beth bit back a smile. “Is that really such a big deal?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, unamused. “Kinda. Yeah.”

“I’m still nursing,” She said in an attempt at pacifying him.

“The doctor said that wadn’t a hundred percent.”

This wasn’t a new conversation. She knew damn well how he felt about it. Her hands resting on his shoulders, her mouth turned up in the corners.

“If you’re that worried you could always...” She bit her lip, dropping her voice to a shy whisper, “Pull out.”

Daryl glowered. “Cause that worked so well for us before.”

“Seriously? So what, we can’t have sex until you find some... some _condoms_?” The word exploded out of her like she’d had a hard time getting it past her throat and her cheeks went bright red. She’d seen his guts literally spilled at her feet, he’d watched her give birth; they had no secrets between them but that - saying the word condoms out loud - that somehow embarrassed her.

His eyes dropped to where her thighs hugged his. “I’m sorry,” He mumbled.

“You’re sorry?” She was slack jawed as she blinked at him. “Jeez Daryl, you act like me getting pregnant again is the worst thing that could ever happen.”

“Maybe it is, huh. You ever think of that?” He gritted, his eyes flying up to hers. “You screamin’ and hollerin’ for your mama and not a damn thing I could do.”

“Dare...” She started, looking all kinds of confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The night Bonnie was born!” He pushed her off his lap, barely avoiding a knee to the groin as her leg dragged over his and she landed awkwardly on the couch beside him.

“That’s what all this is about?” She asked. First pushing her hair out of her face, she pulled his balled up shirt out from under her and chucked it at him.

He stood up, shaking out his wrinkled shirt before jamming his arms back through the sleeves. “Course it is. You act like you don’t remember but I do.”

“Daryl.” The way she said his name had him looking up. She was smiling and giving him that look like she was always giving the girls - like he’d gone and done something she thought was cute.

“Don’t know what so damn funny about it,” He grumbled as he finished buttoning his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” She apologized.

Climbing to her knees so that she kneeled on the edge of the couch, she reached for him and like a man possessed he went to her. His hands on her waist again and her arms around his neck, for a moment he nuzzled her soft cheek.

“I do remember,” She said gently, her eyes intent on his. “But I don’t.”

Daryl snorted but Beth only smiled, like she had some kind of secret she was about to impart on him.

“Carol calls it the mother’s blessing. The second they hand you the baby you forget all about the pain and it don’t matter what happened or how bad it hurt or for how long because to you everything is right in the world. I do remember, I just don’t care. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Bonnie is the best thing to ever happen to me. Having her here with you, it somehow makes all that other bad stuff that happened worth it.”

“I don’t think I could stand to see you in that kind of pain again,” He told her, his voice gravelly and dark.

“And yet I know I could do it a hundred times more,” She beamed and then with an eye roll, “Okay, maybe not a _hundred_ times.”

His cheek twitched in a half smirk. He still wasn’t wholly convinced but Beth was nothing if not persistent.

“I love you, Daryl Dixon,” She told him with a grin. “And I would love nothing more than to have more of your babies as long as you and God were both willing.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that your pretty way of saying you want me to screw you without a rubber?”

Beth let out an exasperated cry. “God Daryl! Yes. Fine! It’s me saying I want you to screw me without a rubber. Okay?”

Snorting again, this time in amusement, he gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.

“It’s still a lot though, the idea of more kids. You mind if I think on it for a bit?”

“Of course not.” Her fingers in his straggly hair, she smiled. “It’s not like there aren’t other ways you can satisfy me.”

“Hmm,” He growled. “Is that what you think?”

“Oh yeah, buddy,” She laughed, inching her knees forward. “That’s what I know.”

“What you know, huh?” He was chuckling when the sound of voices came from the back of the house.

Beth and Daryl exchanged a look, her eyes the size of saucers.

“I thought you locked the door.”

“I did. The front one.”

“Back door’s wide open, genius,” Rick announced from the kitchen, Michonne stifling her laugh at his side. “Don’t mind us, we only live here.”

“We weren’t doin’ nothin’,” Daryl groused.

“Mhm.” Michonne rolled her eyes. “Seriously you two, the kids nap on that couch.”

Beth pushed Daryl away. The moment ruined, she clamored quickly to her feet.

“Beth,” Rick drawled. Now days the smug bastard loved finding new ways to make her blush, if only to get under Daryl’s skin. “What were you doin’?”

“Nothing!” Her voice went high and she shot a look over her shoulder at her husband. “I was just about to head over to the pantry and get what we need for dinner.”

“Uh-huh,” The sheriff smirked, knowing better as she headed out the front door.

“Such an asshole,” Daryl grumbled.

“Mhm. Yeah, you are.”

The roughnecks eyes narrowed to icy slits. If he only knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always practice safe sex. The pull out method is not a responsible form of birth control and neither is breastfeeding. (Just ask my sister in law.)

**Author's Note:**

> I love all comments and kudos.


End file.
